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In a faraway oasis basking in the dusty afternoon, under the garden trellis at the archeological dig; the evening birds fluff their feathers, the crowd sip from tall glasses, the band don sandy-colored suits and look into the future. Naima whispers incantations of good fortune. We are happily under the spell. The saxophonist proposes a toast. The chorus of birds begin the sleep of night and we follow.
Favorite track: Instrumental.