asks me the dreaded question, If you hate it so much, why don’t you just quit?
And I say, “Good point.” And quit.
In that flickering canyon of advertising, two thousand dollars had never seemed so far away.
Zahler was waiting at the corner where he’d said to meet, seven dogs in tow.
He was panting and sweaty, but his entourage looked happy—gazing up at the signs, sniffing at tourists passing by. It was all just flickering lights to them.
No jobs, no money. Lucky dogs.
“How much you get paid for that, Zahler?”
“Not enough,” he panted. “Almost got killed on the way down here!”
“Yeah, sure,” I said. One of the little ones was nibbling me, and I knelt and petted him. “This guy looks deadly.”
“No really, Moz. There was this alley . . . and this cat.”
“An alley cat? And you with only seven dogs.” One of which was gigantic, like a horse with long, flowing hair. I stroked its head, laughing at Zahler.
Still panting, he pointed his free hand at one of the little ones. “It’s all his fault, for peeing.”
“Huh?”
“It was just—never mind.” He frowned. “Listen, you hear that drumming? It’s her. Come on.”
I grabbed the monster-dog’s leash from Zahler, and then two more, pulling the three of them away from a pretzel cart whose ripples of heat smelled like seared salt and fresh bread. “So, you think Pearl will approve of this drummer?”
“Sure. Pearl’s all about talent, and this girl is fexcellent.”
“But she plays on the street, Zahler? She could be homeless or something.”
He snorted. “Compared to Pearl, you and me are practically homeless. Didn’t you see that apartment?”
“Yeah, I saw that apartment.” I could still smell the money crammed into every corner.
“ And there were stairs. More floors than we even saw.”
“Sure, Pearl’s insanely rich. And this is supposed to convince me she can deal with a homeless drummer?”
“We don’t know that this girl’s homeless, Moz. Anyway, all I’m saying is that if Pearl can deal with you and me, she’s no snob.”
I shrugged. Snob wasn’t the word I would’ve used.
“Are you still bummed because of what she did to the Riff?”
“No. Once I got used to the idea of flushing all those years of practice down the toilet, I got over it.”
“Dude! You are still bummed.”
“No, I mean it.”
“Look, I know it hurts, Moz. But she’s going to make us huge !”
“I get it, Zahler.” I sighed, angling my dogs away from a hot-dog cart. Of course, practicing yesterday had hurt—but so did getting a tattoo, or watching a perfect sunset, or playing till your fingers bled. Sometimes you just had to sit there and deal with the pain.
Pearl had rubbed me raw, but she knew how to listen. She could hear the heart of the Big Riff, and she hadn’t done anything I wouldn’t have if I’d been listening. I’d had six years to figure out what she’d recognized in six minutes. That’s what made me cringe.
That and the whammy she’d put on Zahler. He wouldn’t shut up about how brilliant Pearl was, how she was going to make us big, how things were finally going to happen. Like all those years with just the two of us had been a waste of time.
Zahler had a total crush on Pearl—that was obvious. But if I said so out loud, he’d just roast me with his death stare. And talk about wasting time: girls like her were about as likely to hook up with boys like us as Zahler’s dogs were to pull him to the moon.
“Okay, I thought you said she was a drummer.”
“What?” Zahler cried above the rumble. “You don’t call that drumming?”
“Well, she’s got drumsticks. But I thought drummers were to supposed to have drums .” I shook my head, trying to keep my three curious dogs from surging into the rapt crowd of tourists, Times Square locals, and loitering cops surrounding the woman.
“Yeah, well, imagine if she did have drums. Listen to how much
And I say, “Good point.” And quit.
In that flickering canyon of advertising, two thousand dollars had never seemed so far away.
Zahler was waiting at the corner where he’d said to meet, seven dogs in tow.
He was panting and sweaty, but his entourage looked happy—gazing up at the signs, sniffing at tourists passing by. It was all just flickering lights to them.
No jobs, no money. Lucky dogs.
“How much you get paid for that, Zahler?”
“Not enough,” he panted. “Almost got killed on the way down here!”
“Yeah, sure,” I said. One of the little ones was nibbling me, and I knelt and petted him. “This guy looks deadly.”
“No really, Moz. There was this alley . . . and this cat.”
“An alley cat? And you with only seven dogs.” One of which was gigantic, like a horse with long, flowing hair. I stroked its head, laughing at Zahler.
Still panting, he pointed his free hand at one of the little ones. “It’s all his fault, for peeing.”
“Huh?”
“It was just—never mind.” He frowned. “Listen, you hear that drumming? It’s her. Come on.”
I grabbed the monster-dog’s leash from Zahler, and then two more, pulling the three of them away from a pretzel cart whose ripples of heat smelled like seared salt and fresh bread. “So, you think Pearl will approve of this drummer?”
“Sure. Pearl’s all about talent, and this girl is fexcellent.”
“But she plays on the street, Zahler? She could be homeless or something.”
He snorted. “Compared to Pearl, you and me are practically homeless. Didn’t you see that apartment?”
“Yeah, I saw that apartment.” I could still smell the money crammed into every corner.
“ And there were stairs. More floors than we even saw.”
“Sure, Pearl’s insanely rich. And this is supposed to convince me she can deal with a homeless drummer?”
“We don’t know that this girl’s homeless, Moz. Anyway, all I’m saying is that if Pearl can deal with you and me, she’s no snob.”
I shrugged. Snob wasn’t the word I would’ve used.
“Are you still bummed because of what she did to the Riff?”
“No. Once I got used to the idea of flushing all those years of practice down the toilet, I got over it.”
“Dude! You are still bummed.”
“No, I mean it.”
“Look, I know it hurts, Moz. But she’s going to make us huge !”
“I get it, Zahler.” I sighed, angling my dogs away from a hot-dog cart. Of course, practicing yesterday had hurt—but so did getting a tattoo, or watching a perfect sunset, or playing till your fingers bled. Sometimes you just had to sit there and deal with the pain.
Pearl had rubbed me raw, but she knew how to listen. She could hear the heart of the Big Riff, and she hadn’t done anything I wouldn’t have if I’d been listening. I’d had six years to figure out what she’d recognized in six minutes. That’s what made me cringe.
That and the whammy she’d put on Zahler. He wouldn’t shut up about how brilliant Pearl was, how she was going to make us big, how things were finally going to happen. Like all those years with just the two of us had been a waste of time.
Zahler had a total crush on Pearl—that was obvious. But if I said so out loud, he’d just roast me with his death stare. And talk about wasting time: girls like her were about as likely to hook up with boys like us as Zahler’s dogs were to pull him to the moon.
“Okay, I thought you said she was a drummer.”
“What?” Zahler cried above the rumble. “You don’t call that drumming?”
“Well, she’s got drumsticks. But I thought drummers were to supposed to have drums .” I shook my head, trying to keep my three curious dogs from surging into the rapt crowd of tourists, Times Square locals, and loitering cops surrounding the woman.
“Yeah, well, imagine if she did have drums. Listen to how much
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