Read And Blew

He looked at the red tie. He looked at the blue tie. Oxygenated or unoxygenated blood. There were police lights flashing: red blue red blue. A limited kaleidoscope. Hot and cold.

The first politician’s dull brown shoe made contact with his crotch and the second politician’s scuffed black shoe collided with his rib. He had become something of a political football.

The people that were standing around filming it were handing each other Marlboros or Ice Blue Menthols. Red and blue. A literary jazz icon, read and blew. Ornette Coleman moments at the top of the giant steps away from Coltrane, perched above the deep waters of Parker.

The trumpets were screaming. The cameras were hungry. The bloodied figure was Mr. Average: he screamed. They sometimes lied and said they got it all down in black and white, but it really only mattered if it was in read and blew.

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