Friday, January 21, 2011
It's a new age in blues. It's hidden under fluorescent stars and rafter skies. Where the concrete spouts light posts and parking meters. The rain makes everything look new. The headlights stare back. It's in the deep sinking feeling you get right before you say to yourself "Aw, man. You know this bus ain't coming. Are we gonna stick this out, or are we gonna hail a cab?" You hear a lonely trumpet playing in your head. The cab driver makes the wrong turn. "Right on Richmond, man". Drowned out by the AM radio stations. That lonely trumpet playing in your head.