There is a man. Black, in the black of night. Black, on the black seat of a taxi. So black, so thin, that you can hardly distinguish him. Only the eyes, every now and then. A flash. A flash of black. In the black night of a city that isn’t his. The radio plays a song. The man listens. He certainly doesn’t understand the words. His eyes shine – black – in the dark. The taxi stops. A record store. The black man gets out and buys all the records of the one who sings this song. I swear to you, since this morning, I’ve been hearing this story, perhaps legend, and I’m asking myself:
WHAT THE HELL WAS MILES DAVIS SMOKING?

Ciucculatina d''a ferrovia - Nino D'Angelo

Well, since I’m posting it, I dedicate it to the fool.