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Trombone

 Last night me and my friends went to a goth dance event downtown. I danced until my clothes were so soaked with sweat that they added a couple pounds (the benefit of wearing black, nobody can tell), someone got a tattoo, and then it was one in the morning and we all needed milkshakes more than we've ever needed anything before. DQ was too far out of the way, so we ended up at Dick's Drive-In, along with apparently the entire population of Capitol Hill. 

 While we were in line figuring out who was going to pay back whom, we saw: a young boy with spikes on his Converse, a man wearing a toga, a couple in matching red T-shirts, and a busker playing the trombone to some background jazz music. Man, this guy was good! And loud-- we could hear him as we left, even with the windows down. 

 When I was in elementary school band, I played the flute. The trombonists sat right behind us, and while I never got hit in the back of the head or anything, I definitely considered them my enemies. Trombones are loud instruments. I'm sure that an eleven-year-old skill level wasn't helping my opinion, either. I don't listen to much jazz at the moment. I don't go to events with marching bands. I'm very rarely around trombones in my adult life. And I found out while eating fries last night that this fact needs to change because trombones, I discovered, are awesome.

 They're more dramatic and playful than a trumpet. They can be disruptive or annoying or sonorant or gentle. They look like a wonderful loosened knot made out of brass. And they're loud-- this used to be a drawback, but recently I've been having a great appreciation for things that demand attention.

  I'm going to go listen to some jazz.

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