HOT SAXES

On July the third, next to the band stand in Santa Clara's City Park, a sign mysteriously appears:

HOLY SAXOPHONES

Last year there had been Polish hot dogs, and the underground network never sleeps. A fife of ants shows up. The scent of barbeque is a Pied Piper. A taco stand is a riverboat.

But let the evidence not be mistaken for the event, the smell of rain was also there. Every tent has a flap. But on July the Fourth? A story brews.

The Rollers, as they call themselves, are practicing in their spaceship, a garage. The walls are breathing, funky. Holyman blows smoke through his horn, and everyone gets into it. Virtually disappearing into thin air. An amazing sight. Outside the ants are dancing. It's a setup, the network everywhere.

Pretty soon the whole City is dancing. But few people know why, exactly.

July the Fourth, and the ants have chewed down the sign. The City Park is vacant. The Holy Saxophone Rollers are leading Santa Clara's children on a march down El Camino.

As the parade finishes, light rain begins to fall. The tent flap closes.