Hey Joe

South House is one of Alice’s hosts. I choose this bar to be alone, because it welcomes me and camouflages me.

We, a glass of wine and a genealogical musical tree watching us. The white walls covered with art, a quiet environment and the average light. I uncapped the pen, flipped the pages looking for a blank sheet and with words I draw what I see.

A man sitting on the counter, who hides the bald head with a green beret. The skin is dark like the clothes he wears. The checkered socks peek through his short pants and he wears sunglasses. Although the light is minimal and it’s dark outside.

Jazz echoes through space and he danced with his hands and head, as if they were extensions of his soul. As if the music gives him life and shape. He dances with the bottle of beer, making it slide down the counter. From the left hand to the right, from the right hand to the left hand.

The rhythm, musicality and joy of this man make me think about his story. The life he must have lived, until seated in front of me. Him on famous stage in the world, with his afro hair coloring the air. A head full of hair so curly that it wouldn’t fit, in any way, in his troupe green beret. I imagine him sharing the stage with Jimi Hendrix, making the audience vibrate and the girls screaming. I also see him going on a country tour, seated by the window of a bus marking imaginary beats with his knuckles. Drinking dark liquor of a bottle neck and smoking forbidden things.

He may have been someone whose career ended too early to be recognized, but whose musicality didn’t leave his veins. Or maybe he has never been on a stage. Or out of his mother’s garage. Or the school playground. Or out of his mind, dreams and chimeras.

Here he is alone. No past or future in memory, only Jazz. He isn’t seeking approval or attention, it’s just him and the passion for music that are enjoying that cold beer.

He and his discreet dance, me and my notebook. This man, unknowingly, made my day. It made me smile, think and create. It filled my eyes and thoughts and while he drank a beer, I watered my creativity.

Thank you, John Doe.