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An open letter to the Blues Man of Alewife - A little less than a happy high
komos
komos
An open letter to the Blues Man of Alewife
Dear Sir-

I’m not sure how you manage to do this, but I’m never quite sure what it is that you’re playing when I hear your slurred drawl and your lazy guitar pickin’ from the top of the escalators. The best I can tell is that you are not the Off-Key Fife Guy or the Just-Because-You-Sing-At-Church-Doesn’t-Mean-You-Can-Sing-Lady. For that, at least, I can think that fortune has smiled on me. I do again when I realize that what you’re playing is edgy, experimental, and utterly unrefined.

When I catch sight of you, too tall and got up in duds Jake and Elwood would be proud of (assuming they could appreciate beige and corduroy), I know that the change is coming. I can almost see the gleam in your eye through those cheap sunglasses. You’re going to switch things up. A slight change and low delta blues, unmistakable now, roll down the stairs after me as I head for the platform. "Of course," I think to myself, happy in spite of (or perhaps because of) the sad notes that reduce everything to its most basic form. Yeah, I might be sad or bored or in pain, but others have known all of that, too.

I'm rarely the only one who's smiling.

Don’t ever change.

-me
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