Every Sunday at dawn, March through to September, the Balderton Brass Band met up for a musical jamboree in a residential area. Their tone-deaf conductor, Jimmy ‘Spring Chicken’ Gilbert, delighted in aggravating his neighbours.
The instrumentalists — all octogenarians or nonagenarians — preferred to exercise their lungs from a sitting position, to put less stress on their knees.
“We will have a concert soon,” said Jimmy, just to keep the pensioners sweet until he’d stolen their souls.
On the bandstand, his tail twitched in time to the music and his retractable horns zizzed beneath his toupee. Off to the next town soon.
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Friday Fictioneers: 100-word stories
Photo prompt: image ©David Stewart
Sarah Potter Writes 