the time i was a jazz musician

I awoke this morning a little sweaty, a bit greasy. My silk boxers were all bunched up in my junk underneath the rough cotton hotel blanket. It was silky-edged, and I turned over to find that I was sharing it with a girl, a guy, and another girl. The girls were smart-looking. One of them was still wearing her librarian glasses, the other’s hair was pinned up in a tight bun. The dude was my brother Owen. Never worked a day in his life, but the boy could sure enough gather us some tail.
My head was pounding. Too many shots of heroin last night. I looked over at the needle bucket, which is where I usually keep my hypodermic needles when I’m on the road. All my dang needles were empty, and they were supposed to last me all the way to Providence. I found the hotel pen and wrote on my hand, “Refill Bucket,” so that Janet, my manager, won’t think that I am on drugs. The pen went in the bucket so that I wouldn’t forget to steal it.
I tried to slip back into my corduroy pants, but it turns out they were Owen’s. Checking his pockets, I saw that he had some needles, but they were all used up, so I threw them in the bucket, too. I couldn’t find my corduroy pants, and Owen’s were a little too tight, but they got me out to the breakfast room where I munched on some continental breakfast. On my way out, I grabbed a half-bunch of bananas for Owen and the girls so they could get their days off to a good start.
No one was awake when I got back. I took my trusty sax out of its hardcase and blew out some hardy notes to rouse everyone. The girls got up and looked damn sexy in their frilly undies, and then they got all hurried when they noticed what time it was because the library was opening soon and they had to be there to look up books for people in the community. Before they left, they planted big fat kisses on each one of us. As they walked out the door, they told us to come by the Suffolk County Library next time we were on Long Island. I patted each of them on the butt as they left and put a nickel in their hands for the bus.
Owen turned on the TV and we watched morning shows for a while. Janet came by to tell us the bus was leaving for Hartford in an hour, and we told her to “cool her jets.” I grabbed my sax and wailed on it for a bit while Owen played drums on the overturned ice bucket. I got tired, so I showered and put all my other corduroy pants in my duffel bag. When Janet came back, me and Owen were ready to hit the road again, just two brothers living that classic jazz lifestyle.