Twofer

"Play it like notes on a scantron," said the hipcat motor bass to the nervous kid with the firecracker mouth, "Like freeze-dried sugar cane, green bananas in your lunch box. Got it?"

Oh he got it. Got it like scrappy beans stuck between couch cushions. He played that drum til the walls shook and the women trembled. He played it like Mount Carmel visitations, parrot-talk.