Taxes

So today I was on my way out the door swoosibn out an ivory smooth improvisation when outside my apartment some Georgetown grad in expensive shades and a cheap suit/skirt taps me on the shoulder, “Are you Tom Garcia?”

Four sets of triplets rattled from my horn, “If by Tom Garcia you mean the saXXXXX man then that manila folder you have there is like a night with Stan Getz- spot on. What do you need, white blouse and tweed?”

“Sir,” she shifted her hips, “I’m from the IRS. You owe the government a large sum of money- you haven’t paid the large amount of residuals from your music.”

“Baybee,” I leaned back and slid closer to the income tax bunny, “Did Jesus charge for fish and wine? You know that I play most of my music for free- you can’t put a price of perfectivity.”
“Well, sir,” she flipped open her manila envelope while softly biting down on her the left side of her lower lip, “Due to the current financial crisis, the federal government has begun taxing notes played. The amount due is calculated by multiplying the number of notes played by the duration of each note by the tonal quality of each note since 2007. According to our records, the amount you owe should not only take the country out of debt but should also afford President Obama the bright yellow Pontiac Aztec with after market chrome pipes he’s always wanted.”

“Well,” a series of softly slurred scales sweetly slithered from my saXXXXX, “perhaps I can pay you in something other than cash…”

139 sweat drench hours later my debt was listed as zero point zero zero underlined.