Intro to Jack Elliot

I saw Jack Elliot today. He sat on a park bench reading the morning news, holding his usual black coffee, taking three sips before throwing it away. He wasn’t really a coffee drinker. He hadn’t changed – his head sat on his neck like an ornamental egg in a four-point display, with the pointy end down and thrusting forward. He wore a goatee, perfectly trimmed, and an earnest expression. His features were soft-edged, as if eroded by a constant updraft. His hair, a handful of wispy, black strands, was swept straight back. I saw Jack Elliot today. Jack Elliot died one year ago.