Like the woman, the beast is in chains, gagged, moanin' when it wants to shout.Well... Jazz is not so easy to contain. Fun motifs and little thrilling...trills are not enough. Your fingers fly over the ivory. The cute moans become an unstoppable flow. Roars and profanity. "Fuck me, oh...Fuck me !" But still the bliss finds syncopes and interstices to swirl pleasure into the music. The instrument obeys now, craves for more.You pound the keys, the hammers pound the felt. The Steinway shouts through. For a brief while I stood there, wondering if the girl was at all alive, it being inconceivable that someone could sleep with the wind as it was. Evidently she was alive, for her chest rose and fell gently. Wondering whether I should wake her or not, I realized that there was about half an hour till the gate was locked, and she would likely have to spend the night here. Bending down beside her, I gently cleared my throat, making an odd sound as the cold had reached my throat. She didn't. More

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