I ran into my old friend Tom Waits at the Chili Parlor last night when I went to have a bowl of green chili and a Lone Star. He sat down with me at my favorite booth. The people behind him were making fun of his unique voice and I got up to say something to them, when Tom grabbed my arm and said,
“It’s true, I’ll never sing opera again. It is, however, an appropriate
organ for conveying; it’s the right horn for my car. People get out of
the way when I blow it. It frightens children and gets me a seat at the
bar. What more do you want from a voice?”
Tom is his own man.
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