The Throat
“"Glenroy Breakstone. I never heard it sound so good." "It came out on CD a couple of months ago." He was wearing a gray glen plaid suit and a black vest, and I was sure that he had gone back to bed after the service. We emerged from the fabulous litter into the clearing of the sofa and the coffee table. Next to the usual array of bottles, glasses, and ice bucket lay the disc's jewel box. I picked it up and looked at the photograph reproduced from the original album—Glenroy Breakstone's broad fa...ce bent to the mouthpiece of his horn. When I was sixteen, I had thought of him as an old man, but the photograph showed a man no older than forty. Of course the record had been made long before I became aware of it, and if Breakstone were still alive, he had to be over seventy.
"I think I'm trying to get inspired," Tom said. He bent over the table and poured an inch of malt whiskey into a thick low glass. "Want anything?
There's coffee in the kitchen." I said that I'd be grateful for the coffee, and he went back into his kitchen and returned a moment later with a steaming ceramic mug.MoreLess
"I think I'm trying to get inspired," Tom said. He bent over the table and poured an inch of malt whiskey into a thick low glass. "Want anything?
There's coffee in the kitchen." I said that I'd be grateful for the coffee, and he went back into his kitchen and returned a moment later with a steaming ceramic mug.MoreLess
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