When Mr. Donovan R. Navy shot his brains out, all of the music in the world played at once.
There was an ensemble in South Bronx, a talented group of musicians led by a certain Cosby “Ultraviolet” Williams, real estate agent by day and slow jazz crooner by night. They were at a local pizza joint that was famous for its wings. The trumpet blared precisely at 12:33 AM.
There was a young girl in Cedar Rapids who was rehearsing for a piano recital. Ivy was her name, and she was wearing a bright yellow t-shirt. It wasn’t mustard yellow, though, because she never did acquire her mother’s taste for mustard. She played the final note of Bach’s “Prelude to the Well Tempered Clavichord” at 11:33 PM.
There was a dog named Fish, pacing back and forth along a vinyl fence in a neatly trimmed yard in Burbank. He howled his own haunting soliloquy until he was rudely interrupted by the sharp ringing of a gunshot from the garage. It was 9:33 PM.
And that’s how time zones work, kids.