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The Day’s Delight: the Drummer Downstairs

There’s a drummer downstairs, and every now and I then I hear him tapping out rhythms on the walls, and I tap back. Matching, improvising, changing, challenging.

He came upstairs today, poked his head around the door: “Who is that? Is that Rose? You’re really good!”

I said, “But give me an egg shaker on stage and I’ll lose the beat.” Which is just bullshit.

And isn’t that a true delight: a spade’s a spade, and an old lie doesn’t hold up to daylight anymore.


When the truth knocks and asks if you can come out and play, you should answer with a Yes.


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