You are one in a million, a jazz standard

Night falls in late February. The waning moon enters, and when it appears on the horizon the clock nears midnight.

Ilan Chester's voice sounds on the radio, as put there by a haggard rollicking, or by a machine that follows the dictates of the grill station. The truth is that "You're one in a million" with the Caracas silence background highlights.

And highlight the possibilities of dreaming that at some point this piece becomes a standard jazz, his voice echoing in scat, improvising. Then moves to the piano, delicately draws the subject and then scales begin to intertwine, rising, falling, multiplying in thousands of unforeseen keys.

Until the piano gives way to the battery, then to low, until the voice slips in duet with the bass strings and he leaves her alone, culminating in the final phrases and crown between sound and nostalgic "You are one in one million".