Vincent Parry, talks to his dead friend and frustrated trumpet-player George Fellsinger.
“You had ideas, George.”
“I had ideas that I thought were great. But I was always afraid to let them loose. Once you were up here and I put my entire attitude toward life into the trumpet riff. You told me it was cosmic-ray stuff. Something from a billion miles away, bouncing off the moon, coming down and into my brain and coming out of my trumpet. You told me I should do something with ideas like that. And I agreed with you but I never did anything because I was afraid. And now I’m dead.”
I like to imagine George sounded something like this...
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