| Thoth rider hands out a toy |
"The crowd was heavy but happy and throws plentiful along Henry Clay Avenue as the Thoth Parade rolled by.
As Float 22 drew near, the parade stopped. And stopped. And stopped. It was one of those seemingly interminable moments when nothing is moving and you don't know why, but you hope it's a king's toast downtown or a flat tire up ahead and not anything to do with gunfire.
The skies were brightening, a horde of paradegoers started tossing rubber footballs back and forth with the upper tier of riders, and kids ran circles in the streets.
Then, quietly, without fanfare, rider No. 4 in the sidewalk-side well of Float 22 dropped his armful of beads, reached down, and picked up a trumpet. The clear, bouyant notes of "The Saints Go Marching In" floated across the crowd.
The guy was good. Paradegoers were entranced. He continued to play, off and on, a series of trumpet solos, just an anonymous man in a mask who had brought along his horn and, on a whim, stopped to play."



