Devil of a Time

I met the devil on a Friday night. We danced to the phat bari sax. Smoke choked out any words I could say, Paying a heavy tax. The sky was maroon with contemptible past, The sound iridescently smooth. The trombone a-swung to the rhythm of us, Burning a hole in the truth. I met the devil on a Friday night, Then woke up on Saturday lone. I wish; I made this whole story up. There's no one to call on the phone.