I am so slammed with work. No time to write anything.
Down in the dressing rooms, after the show, I was gathering my stuff, and those guys came storming through. I stammered out something worshipful to Moore as he stopped to shake my hand. Brubeck himself walked down the hall, head down, and, as he passed me, cut his eyes over and — like a star quarterback would to a thrid-string receiver who caught a couple of passes in a blow-out — whacked me in the ass.