Are you sitting on anything?
“Squatting, motherfucker. Got powerful thighs. I’m skinny, but I got sinew like a motherfucker.”
“Other musician’s playing, I lay out. Turn my back on the crowd, sit down, whatever. Old days, I used to get off the stand. Otherwise, motherfuckers are just gonna be looking at me while the cat plays his solo. Some motherfuckers do that. Gotta have the spotlight even when they ain’t playing shit. Monk used to do that. Loved Monk, but couldn’t stand that shit. Dance around while someone’s playing. Course, Monk was half-crazy and half-retard. Couldn’t get too mad at him.”
I guess not.
“Used to go over Monk’s apartment. This was real early on. He’d teach me wild shit, all sorts of inversions and shit, but he had a weird way of teaching. He’d play something, then stare at you for a while. Motherfucker could stare the dick off a pigeon, man. I’m good at staring at motherfuckers, but you know where I’m coming from. Ain’t got no poker face. Monk? Monk stares at you and you start thinking, ‘What is going on in that fucking head of his?’ He might try to eat you. Never know.”
Thelonious Monk was not going to try to eat you.
“Tried to eat Gerry Mulligan.”
That’s not true.
Mr. Davis, there’s no need for that.
“Fuck you twice, motherfucker. You doubt me. Very disrespectful. Makes me angry.”
Please don’t shoot at me.
“Ain’t gonna shoot at you. Gonna deafen a white bitch.”
“Look what you caused. White bitch used to hear, now she can’t. That’s on you.”
It’s truly not.
Oh, fine. I’m responsible.
“Gonna do the other ear now.”