Blues on a Sunny Afternoon


“So, your kids never called or emailed?” he said as I returned to the porch. It was a beautiful day. Inspiration gushed out from everywhere. Just a perfect venue for blues. And nobody blew a more wicked harp than Blind Dog Kenny. But Blind Dog never had kids. He was curious about kids, though — a bit like what it might feel like to be a bat. “*I* just called them” I said, as I started dropping the sixth to D. Blind Dog reached for more mastika firewater. “And?” he asked, in his typical abbreviated persona. “They didn’t realize it was fathers’ day” I said, matter-of-factly. “Sweet” he said, slapping the harp on his palm. “Man, you sure raised them well, you know. No stupid retail holidays here.” He was right. “Let’s do another number” I said, “I feel like, Blues on a Sunny Afternoon”.

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