It was early. The band was still arriving and the drummer was off in the corner warming up with brushes. Shshhh dadda shshhh dadda shshhh dadda. The man in an odd-matched couple yells out to the drummer "PARADIDDLE PARADIDDLE, which apparently is a drumming pattern. I assumed my post at the door and the club began to fill. Three women sitting at a table would knock heads together followed by a camera flash. The process repeated several times and looked almost like a deep-sea amoeba-like life form that has electrical charges. Several different couples showed up including one with a sullen woman. I couldn’t tell if she was angry, didn’t care for jazz, or just generally projects a two-foot defense-field aura. I glanced over a couple of times and noticed her face in profile looking softer and approachable, but I know enough not to poke a stick at a coiled rattler. A guest singer had dropped in and was singing Al Jarreau’s “We’re in this love together,” when I sat at the bar to have my end-of-night cocktail. I looked around at the mix of people you can only find in a jazz club… the American melting pot. I tipped my glass to the three young Asian guys sitting across the bar from me as they slammed shots of tequila before biting into lime wedges. It was getting to be time for the band’s signature last song, Satin Dolls.