““He swelled into the piece, his hand flat-hatting across the keyboard and thundering the lower notes like a trip-hammer. Finishing what I assumed was the first portion of the piece, he turned to look at me with his sad eyes. “Personally, I think it’s a masterpiece.” We sat there smiling at each other until we became aware of the silence and looked up once again to find the onlookers dumbstruck. I leaned his way and spoke in a low voice. “Maybe not a highbrow crowd.” Leeland immediately launched into a jazzy blues version of “This Train.” “Boy howdy.””
