the smuggler’s bible

Pitter

The band is already slipping through the curtain onto the stage when Pitter’s car roars into the parking lot and skids sideways into a spot, spitting gravel and exhaust over the sullen valets.

“Sorry!” he says, scrambling through the front door with his saxophone case clutched under one arm. “I’m talent. And late. And talent.”

Listen, it was tight, but doable. The intro on Serendipitous Meeting is like four minutes long. Then Goldie catches him in a headlock backstage, screaming about last night’s bar tab and threatening to flatten his horn with a ball-peen hammer.

Anyway, Pitter misses his solo.