104 The BookBeat’s talents get down

Suddenly everyone in the Plip Plop Coffe Shop was singing, but for wary baby Drew, the protective other baby, and the observant Frisco Ninja. Even Reluctant Dissenter #2 joined in, to blend in.
The Strollin’ Bluegrass Band started pickin’ and fiddlin’ a hip bohemian hipster musician version of “Morning Has Broken” that lost none of its gleam and melody.
“Only from Fairfax,” said the Patron of the Arts, ex cathedra, before filling her lungs with more lovely oxygen for the next brilliant note.
Dorie Doorslam smiled as her right hand crashed the banjo strings. She had hope for once, and even rarer, she didn’t mind that it clashed with her outfit.
. . . Blackbird has spoken, like the first bird.
Praise for the singing, praise for the morning . . .
The six lovely ladies from San Francisco swayed, boomers and religious and entrepreneurs leaned back, Aunt Kar straightened all the way up. The pure, happy sound echoed between the small shops along San Anselmo Avenue, to the baseball champs in position on the rooftips, and reached City Hall.
“Something wonderful is happening in my little town,” the Mayor said. She made all the rub-a-dub-dub movements of straightening her belt and tugging her jacket and primping her perm for the right conduct and sense of public office, and sought this only-in-San Anselmo event herself by following the talented Fairfax music.


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