I play the accordion. In a band.

Yes, I’ve heard all the jokes:

“definition of perfect pitch?”

(accordion tossed into a dumpster)

“don’t leave your accordion in the car”

(someone will break in and leave another one)

 

Whatever.

 

My friend who is also a musician tells me:

“You can make hundreds of dollars doing this. Hundreds.”

 

And I have.

Splitting up the proceeds of the tip jar, walking away

with 20 1-dollar bills and a beer buzz.

Playing for $500, playing for $350,

playing for drinks, for dinner, for “exposure”…

My bandmate says,

“Enough with the exposure already. If we get any more exposure,

we’ll be rated X.”

 

But there was that one time 15 years ago in San Juan Capistrano

where we made $950 in CD sales.

Someone brings it up every time we’re driving home

from Pasadena, from West Covina, from Fresno, from Portland.

“Remember that time we made all that money?”

 

There are lots of stories like that one.

Okay. Not lots. A few.

 

It’s good enough.