Everyday, it's the same thing. I wake on the couch and try to bring myself out of my stupor. By 8:00 I'm up and look at my sorry face in the mirror. My appearance would say that I haven't showered or shaved for a while even though I know it was just 24 hours ago. My hair smells of smoke and my eyes are dark and circled. I shower. I'm at work by 9:00. I sit in my cubicle, watching the hands on the clock tick by. I look for something to do, there is nothing. I fiddle with my pen. "clickita, clickita, clickita...". Mail comes, mail goes, nothing but junk. Finally, after twelve trips to the water fountain and three to the bathroom, it's 5:00, time to go home.
I race home! I can hardly wait to get to my one room apartment! To my dog who pees in my shoes! To my suit! The bright blue one with a yellow tie. I put on a clean shirt and my best pocket watch. Saddle shoes, stick, and matching hat with a yellow sash finish off the suit. I stroll down the street whistling the newest Benny Goodman to myself. I reach the club and open the door for two ladies while I tip my hat and waltz right in. BAM! The noise from the club reaches my ears! The trumpets take over my arms while the trombone moves my feet. I throw my stick in the corner and grab the nearest girl—she's been tapping her foot all evening and is ready to swing. I holder her tight around the waste and we move our feet to the music, so bold! So beautiful! There is no other place like where I am. No other place I can go to get lost in the music, to dance until my heart is ready to leap out of my chest. The music understands my need and will continue until I am sated. When my feet ache so much, I think surely I must stop, but I keep dancing. It is uncontrollable. This is all about me; my own type of music that I bring to this world. This is what I do. This is where I am happy.
But the club must close. I walk home. In the distance I hear whistled "It don't mean a thing, if it ain't got that swing". I can see the first light coming over the horizon when I reach my building, and the shopkeepers are coming to unlock their newsstands. But for me, I have yet to reach my bed, and I never do. I simply collapse on the couch, smiling to myself, and still feeling the rhythm of the band.