Swing Time Blues
Little did they know when the photographer took their picture that they would find themselves trapped in a painting.
Lost in music, a minute passed then, “Oh, man! Colors are jist as I’ve always thought they’d be!” breathed Dan, his white eyes wide.
Steve tapped his drum. “Ain’t nobody gonna believe this!”
“Darn photographer! Bet she was one of them street magicians!” John cradled his tuba. “How we gonna get to the parade now?”
“Will?” asked Steve.
“I dunno, boys. I…I can’t see.”
Dan’s eye’s teared. “Here, take my arm.”
“What we gonna do?” demanded John. “We gotta get to the parade. We’ve got a set to do.”
“That a street magician?” Steve pointed to the left.
“Boy’s right.” John hefted his tuba. “Let’s ask him.”
The street magician chuckled once Will had explained. “My tricky sister! Tell her I said hi!”
The four stumbled onto the street; the parade just in sight. And there was the sister taking a photo of it.