For one moment the music faltered. The soul hesitated, ears straining to pick up the vibrations that had guided the heartbeat. Souls have ears. And souls have hearts. This soul shuffled to the syncopations sounding in its world, the riffs blending one into the other, seamlessly, like waves of a gentle sea: Louis Armstrong's trumpet, notes swirling by so fast they left no time for breaths, the roundabout loll of Jack Teegarden's trombone, sounding like a friendly old dog coming up to lick your face, the tinkling of Jelly Roll Morton's fingers on the piano keys, tasting to the ears indeed like jelly on a roll, King Olver directing it all from out of the shadows. But now it was silent...

With footsteps echoing the way they never did while the music played, the soul strolled over to the center of its universe, cranked the gramophone handle, and smiled satisfaction as the primal sound of jazz filled the realm again.

Story #276

This story is dedicated to the wonderful city of New Orleans.