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Photorealistic scene of a crowded jazz bar with musicians playing on stage, patrons at tables, and a bartender working.

Photorealistic scene of a crowded jazz bar with musicians playing on stage, patrons at tables, and a bartender working.

Now it's jazz, the place is roaring, all beautiful girls in there, one mad brunette at the bar drunk with her boys. One strange chick I remember from somewhere, wearing a simple skirt with pockets, her hands in there, short haircut, slouched, talking to everybody. Up and down the stairs they come. The bartenders are the regular band of Jack, and the heavenly drummer who looks up in the sky with blue eyes, with a beard, is wailing beer-caps of bottles and jamming on the cash register and everything is going to the beat. It's the bcat generation, it's beat, it's the beat to kcep, it's the beat of the heart, it's being beat and down in the world and like old time lowdown and like in ancient civilizations the slave boatmen rowing galleys to a beat and servants spinning pottery to a beat. The faces! There's no face to compare with Jack Minger's who's up on the bandstand now with a colored trumpeter who outblows him wild Dizzy but Jack's face overlooking all the heads and smoke. He has a face that looks like everybody you've ever known and seen on the street in your generation, a sweet face. Hard to describe, sad eyes, cruel lips, expectant gleam, swaying to the beat, tall, majestical - waiting in front of the drugstore. A face like Hunke's in New York (Hunke whom you'll see on Times Square, somnolent and alert, sadsweet, dark, beat, just out of jail, martyred, tortured by sidewalks, starved for sex and companionship, open to anything, ready to introduce new worlds with a shrug). Mehr sehen