“We’ll finish the lesson later.”
“You ever put your d**k in the little one?”
I laughed. “Maybe I put my d**k in the flugelhorn.”
Waz was still pulling on the pants as we finally headed down the stairs. Maybe that, maybe the fact they were way too long, maybe the fact he wasn’t used to stairs, again whatever the cause, he tripped.
“Damn it!” Waz hollered, but this time stayed upright.
“You’re good.” My finger, on the other hand, first burned, now throbbing because I’d landed against it when I fell into the wall as Waz fell into me.
“I’m starting to think I should wear a helmet off the field, too,” he said. “At least on stairs.”
We stopped at the piano. Waz did. “Maybe I can learn the scales on here. That’d be something.”
I took his right hand in mine and folded back all but his inde
