resumption raze she claims i cast no shadow. she asks me why i work so hard to hold onto my seat just so i can catch a string of commercials on the faded beige box that sits on top of the bar. the real magic lives between those ads and intermissions. that's what i'm here for: electric piano kissed by chorus, and the sad sigh of a dead man's tenor sax, recorded nine years before i was born. 230726 what's it to you? who go blather from