Midnight Sun

"Bugga bugga bugga!"

"Stop!" I said. "I need to concentrate."

Goose laughed. "Big-time musician you are," and he sipped his bourbon.

"It kills me when I know a chart and can't name it. Wait, just wait."

There were lines and notes and they were so distinct. They were only what this could be, they were nothing else! Improvisation, sure, but within the confines of the progression. What were they?

"Excuse me, sweetheart?" Goose again, as he does. "Or... Mary! Mary, it's Mary right?"

"Yeah, it's Mary."

"Mary, my darling, please bring me another one of these and put it on that man's tab."

I let it happen, I was treating him. It was what we do, we're just nice like that I guess. But his constant interruptions while I was trying to place the tune I could not handle. It is, my friends, infuriating when you fell something inside and you cannot put a name to it.

"Bugga bugga bugga!"

It was jolting and unnecessary and he paid for his drinks after that. Or he would have, had we stayed much longer. It was "Midnight Sun." That is what it was.