Me, too!
The father of the guitar player who I play with on a regular basis used to be a professional trumpet player. For a while he lived in Paris and being a typical nearly destitute musician, lived in a boarding house that was populated by prostitutes and whatnot. One of them warned him one day not to associate with that gypsy at the room at the end of the hallway. The gypsy would spend his days practicing with a big pile of pot on the table in front of him. So, of course, how could he resist hanging with Django?
