‘Jazz, sonny? Bit ambitious. You’d better keep practicing your scales.’
The old guy wants to walk away, but I am gripped by a strange rage. It makes me do the unthinkable: I offer him the sax.
‘Think you can do better?’
He takes it, searches his bag for something and pulls out the right mouthpiece. He stops my background track and launches into Take Five. Only a few bars in, a crowd has gathered. A pretty blonde girl who sometimes listens sings along.
It’s like magic flowing from the sax. I swear the old guy now looks half his age.