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The Saxophonist

By Daijah Calhoun




The sun had dipped below the city skyline, brushing the sides of tall glass skyscrapers with hues of orange and pink while the clouds rolled over tall buildings. The shadows from them draped across the bustling streets. Bathing in the warm glow of the street lights, a man clutches a saxophone to his chest. 


His chest rose to the now auburn sky as he inhaled the city air through his nose, his fingertips slithered to the keys while he lifted the instrument to his lips. The long breath that he had held in flowed through the brass. The emerging melodies shush the cacophony of the city sounds. Each note he had meticulously whispered was a conduit for the complicated emotion, a vessel in which he poured his soul. 


Onlookers had stopped in their hurried strides to experience the depth of melodies that channeled the evanescence of life. The blaring car horns and sirens around had faded away along with the chitter chatter. For the saxophonist, the world had fallen away as he surrendered to each melancholy note. He had found solace and a momentary escape. The final notes had drifted into the night air and he could not help but to smile. 


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