“Don’t start,” the bass player said, tuning quietly. “We haven’t soundchecked.”

“I’m not starting,” the drummer said. “I’m asking. Does war ever do any good?”

The saxophonist was assembling the horn with the careful patience of someone who has heard too many bad questions. “Define good.”

“Something comes out of it,” the drummer said. “Change. Progress. Even new music.”

“Ah,” the saxophonist said. “The ‘silver lining’ argument.”

The bass player plucked. “You mean like people saying great art comes from suffering?”

“Exactly,” said the drummer. “No wars, maybe no Love Supreme.”

The saxophonist looked up. “That’s like praising a fire because it makes the night look dramatic.”

The drummer laughed. “Dramatic nights are good for solos.”

“Until the house burns down,” the bass player said.

They sat with that.

“I’m serious,” said the drummer. “History shifts after wars. Borders change. Systems collapse. Sometimes for the better.”

“Sometimes,” the bass player said. “And sometimes it just rearranges who gets hurt.”

The saxophonist slid the reed into place. “War is a terrible editor.”

“That’s a good line,” the drummer said.

“It’s not meant to be good,” the saxophonist replied.

The bass player leaned back. “You can’t deny things come out of it though. Technology, alliances, even ideas.”

“Yes,” the saxophonist said. “Graveyards also produce grass.”

The drummer tapped lightly on the snare. “So nothing at all redeeming?”

“I didn’t say that,” the saxophonist said. “I said the good is incidental. Like finding a melody while the building collapses.”

The bass player nodded. “And then people point to the melody and say the collapse was worth it.”

“Exactly.”

The drummer paused. “So we’re just supposed to say it’s all bad and that’s it?”

“No,” the saxophonist said. “We’re supposed to notice that humans are very good at making meaning after the fact.”