dizzy gillespie fashion, to an incredible size. it was as though both sides of his face have been hijacked by shining coffee colored soccer balls. i looked in amazement at the two glistening orbs, afraid they would burst, so tight with the bulging skin. about those bulbous cheeks, his small eyes were narrowed to slits that shone with a maniacal intensity, and then the sound issued forth, high-pitched and yodeling asset at the very gates of heaven and hell it was deep, throaty, the my9 and masculine all at once as it flowed out towards the gorgeous valleys thrusting through the streets like a hell driven and she. then just as suddenly the sound would seize and the face which shrank back to the jovial blubbery vistage of the old bugler. mom, what's wrong with the old man's face? the muscles in his cheeks are worn out. it's normal for from, she murmured smiling at me. identified in some strange way with the old bugler. i wanted to be as free as the sound he made, free, like my father's mother to plot the way over the hills away from t