Howl

I met the trombonist yesterday. He was howling at a couple of dogs whose owner -- a young downtown loft dweller -- was allowing to defecate on the front lawn of the downtown library on Olive Street. He wore a Vietnam vet's baseball cap and had a silver Christmas bow taped to his back along with a long string of baubles. The trombonist inquired whether one of my fellow workers had reported to work. When I told him he hadn't, he replied, `Good, Now we can get drunk together.'