G REEK rubbed his eyes and looked up from his battered drums out into the gloom. "The Shadows—Jazz Center of 42nd Street"—but it didn't look much different from any other hole in the wall he'd been in in the last ten years. Same scarred-up round tables, same rotten watered drinks, same dirty light bulbs disguised with crinkled colored cellophane...
Sketch: Vol. 33
, Article 11.
Available at: http://lib.dr.iastate.edu/sketch/vol33/iss2/11