Within an hour, I’d assembled a series of stacks of records, which Michael couldn’t help but organize. I heard some vocal jazz playing, something modal, and I asked him what it was. It was a video filmed on his phone, playing through the Bluetooth on his system – him, a bass player and a vocalist in the same room I was. It sounded too good to believe, nuanced and with Michael showcasing a deft sense of rhythm on the kit that stood to my left. Later that day, the Southern University Jazz Ensemble’s James McElroy, who introduced me to Michael, would tell me that he was always a monster player, from the early 80s and, still, sick but determined, now. I’m going to have to make a list of these records, Michael said. And check them out and make sure I want to sell them. I said that perhaps I should come back another time, after he’d time to consider which ones he wanted to keep – that there was no pressure, and that this was a fun exchange we’d been having. He smiled and said that he was feeling future separation anxiety from these musical mementos that he’d carried for decades, but that he was sure at the least that the two he assumed were my favorites – the Kuhn album and Steve Reid’s ‘Nova’ - those he definitely wanted to sell. I suggested that I pick 18 other albums to put aside those, and that we take that as an exercise. That would work, he said, and while I looked up sales prices on Discogs, he took out a notepad and wrote down our list. When we got to Wayne Shorter’s ‘Hear No Evil,’ he paused, went up to his CD shelf, and confirmed he had a CD issue of the album he was happy with. We settled up with a Zelle, I washed my blackened hands, and told him I would come back in a couple weeks and we would continue what we’d been doing.