A quick glance from the damsel across the bar, a stare that could cut through the smokey clouds. ”Hey daddy-o,” a gentle tap on the shoulder leads you behind that mysterious muse towards the dance floor. It’s almost as if you can physically see the notes leaving the saxophone and slithering into your ears, filling your body with enough energy to chill ya. It’s jazz baby, and it’s comin’ to you every Sunday night.
No questions asked, we'll be the man you have to see about that dog ;)