Summer's End

The Tyner show was great, an evening of almost all Coltrane. McCoy is not a well man, but behind the keyboard he comes alive. Listening to Pharaoh Sanders is like seeing into someone’s private world. I’ll never know where that man travels when he plays, but it must be a beautifully deep and unusual place.

When the show let out we walked across the street to the storefront Chinese massage parlor, where for a dollar a minute a nice lady named Lulu will dig her hands into your back and neck (and ass), and have you in more pain than when you walked in. But when you leave you are certainly 10 years younger, and even stepping outside into the chaos of a Saturday night in the city, you are overwhelmed by a sense of serenity.

After the massage, Dave and I headed around the corner to Café Reggio for coffee. Officially the first day of autumn, the air was as warm as it is in July. And all over the streets of the Village, people were out in droves, taking in the last bits of summer and of the night's magic.