‘Twas in his drum class that he registered the sour odor of oil.

He sighed. Today o’ all days…

He began banging on his drums as hard as he could—both the fat 1s in front & the thin cymbals to the sides.

Everyone else turned to him for a split second & then stampeded out, their stomps adding to the rhythm o’ his drumming.

He knew he wouldn’t be able to fly out in time, so he decided to finish his last solo.


Class, smell, tampani