I Hope You Make a Million

I did a few jazzy piano gigs with a “Coleman Hawkins style” Sax player, and one time he tricked me into booking a bar where he’d been banned. When I arrived he was already arguing heatedly, with the bartender, and his nemesis bar-buddy, generally “rubbing all their noses in it.” He could not be thrown out he claimed because, by right, he was officially booked. The bartender didn’t agree, but was stuck, saying, “Fine, then, get to work.” His bar-buddy called out, “Good, I hope you guys make a million!” The Sax player mumbled over his shoulder, “Yeah, a million mistakes..” And true to his word, with every wrong note he hit, intentional or not, he shot an elbow-point toward his rival.