Hodge

Hodge the Sax Player

This is Hodge. Each Saturday he sets up long tables and sells knick knacks, junk, records and stuff across the street from me where I’m living on 9th Avenue between Chelsea and Hell’s Kitchen.

Before I met Hodge I heard him while hanging out in my fifth floor walkup. I heard the beautiful deep sound that only a sax can make that makes you wish you were sipping wine and being bent over by a lover who adores you. The sound played with the constant traffic sounds and horn honking of impatient people wanting to drive to Jersey via the Lincoln Tunnell, the entrance of which is across the street from me.

Hodge said, “Come back and take my picture when I’m playing.” I gave him some earrings and a necklace my daughter gave me for him to sell. “Yes,” he said, “I can sell this. Women love the jewelry. Bring me all your stuff you don’t want but no clothes.”