Out of the darkness of night come bright, precise shapes of unending variety. When I finally find Parker's gravestone, I'm immediately disappointed. There's a tenor saxophone engraved on the stone, instead of the alto that Bird always played. Someone made the mistake because the tenor is the smooth, throaty saxophone that is every movie producer's or advertising executive's first thought of jazz. I stand there for maybe five minutes.
Darkness is now everywhere.
I can barely see the stone itself. There is no light shining down from heaven to provide me with any answers at the foot of Charlie Parker's grave. It's pitch black, the street lamps are all burned out, and I can't see a thing. The dull whump of the road beneath the wheels and a flinty, speeding alto sax solo are the only things I can hear. Charlie Parker offers no answers, because he himself was lost in the dark.