WOODWINDS OF FURY

An overturned trash can separated the baritone saxophonist and the oboe player in the alley. Bari sax’s nose was bleeding down onto his starched, white shirt. He’d taken a fairly brutal punch, but he’d managed to slam his elbow into Oboe’s jaw in the initial scuffle. Both were drenched in sweat. It was a hot night, after all. Round two was about to begin and they could already hear members of the brass section quick-stepping it towards them.




-SLL