Literature
That night, jazz reigned
An elderly gentlemen in a tweed suit twirled a lit up hula hoop, borrowed from the twenty-something girl in cut off shorts and a blue wig next to him. A cloud of cotton candy vape smoke drifted across the crowd, blending with the scent of fried pickles and kettle corn. On the stage, an emoji robot face created from fluorescent tubes provided a pulsing backdrop to a pianist, a saxophonist, an accordion player, and a man working an entire bank of synthesizers. My French wasn’t good enough to understand all the lyrics, but Caravan Palace had me just as entranced as everyone else who had stumbled on this unique corner of the Jazz Festival. I bounced up and down like I was in a European disco, while a young couple made enough room to waltz in front of me and two of my brothers shouted lyrics back to the chanteuse on the stage. In this crowd of old and young, listening to this blend of electronica and big band, I felt myself soaring. My heart pounded; my cheeks ached from smiling so widely.
