Nora Studholme

The Pursuit

I always play jazz with my eyes closed. Partly because I know that music is shy, won’t come out if it thinks it’s being watched. Partly, I admit, because I learned somewhere that’s just what saxophone players do. And partly (maybe mostly) to avoid having to look at my surroundings: the grime-gray concrete of the subway steps, the yellowish plaque between the cracked wall-tiles, the scanty flutter of coins and ones that don’t even come close to filling the upturned fedora at my feet.