Thursday, August 21, 2014

It's April 16, 1947


, and you are in Paris, France after the Allied liberation 
from the Nazis.

    You and your most loved one wander into "The Hot Club" of Paris, after a fantastic meal of veal cutlets, buttered scallops and fresh, steamed carrots at Le Cheval Blanc.

    You've heard of a new, Spanish-Gypsy guitarist called "Django Somebody", making the rounds in your city of Lights, of Love, and you two want to check him out.

Lucky You.
    For on this night, young Django Reinhardt will premiere his rendition of "Claire de Lune", by Claude Debussy.  
After two, or maybe three 'old' standards played, to get you, his audience, into the mood, young Django reaches into his sport coat's pocket and pulls out his Zippo and his pack of Lucky Strikes, instantly removing only one with a flick of his talented right wrist, and catching the cigarette with his lips.  He lights it, with the flame highlighting his Mediterranean, olive-hued, sharp facial features.  When his lighter is again stowed away, then he begins to play, he begins to hypnotize you and your lover, and all the other lovers in that tiny, smoke-filled room.



    And it makes your two heads spin; mixed then with the cool, spring night air, you two are overflowing with love, with freedom, with anticipation of your next great discovery:  Maybe hanging upside down from the apex of the Eiffel Tower, oui?

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