Short Story: Down Wylie Avenue

A fine bit of strut-playing from Mr. Erroll Garner, you know that conga player sitting just in and under to accent, to highlight, and it was not only alright, but all good. He sat back and supped the whisky, fingered the lining of his pocket, flicked the lint out on the floor. Lit the smoke, kicked back, shoes off – socks on – feet on the desk. And a hu…