The Drummer

Behind the drums he looked short. I had been meaning to meet him for weeks now, but this or that thing in life had kept me from entering the bar. For some time I watched as he flicked the sticks from one drum to a cymbal to another drum, with precision and speed. The dexterity of his wrists was much too fast to see with the eyes.

I had heard he was very tall, having to duck through door ways. The pictures I had seen of him when he was younger, in old magazines, his head was always tilted and his back slouched. But at the back of the stage, seating at the drum kit, he sat straight and bobbed his head while keeping time. He looked much younger than his 72 years despite the gray hair, probably due to the smile on his face.