Messages Corked

Red wine early, it doesn’t matter, I’m studying it I swear– think of the clubs in New Orleans how the horns and snares and crowds sounds. Release, no plan, just my own Beat. But I always say that in my narrative my endless wish list of stars and seas and views, so me. I’ll chase jazz, I’ll chase music and odd sounds and just live, how can they stop me they can’t so I win, and it’s not even about winning or losing, so the songs repeat and continue here in California, Sonoma Valley. And I’ll sip again till the lenses and blends change. Now jazz plays over the speakers in the tasting room and I can’t concentrate on anything deemed work. Can’t even put it in quotes, no high or low, just music.
Coworker hates jazz. Likes country, not the old kind though which I put on for obvious reasons.
No more deviled eggs (kitchen), already had too many.

“I’ll only charge you for one tasting, how’s that?” I said.
“Whatever.” He said.
“Asshole,” I thought, should have said.

Kentucky: “Fast women and beautiful horses…”