A fine little girl feeds me cheese and wine This blind squirrel found an acorn this time Now I don’t mind being down and out Ain’t so bad, being down and out … A young couple strolling past tossed in a dollar. He rested his chin on the neck of the Les Paul. “What do you think?” “It’ll never sell. It has a happy ending.” He played a slow, deliberate scale. “I’ll name it for you. I’ll call it …” His voice raised a question. She hesitated: Did she really want to fill in the blank? “Marti.” “Marti’s Blues.” He offered his hand. “Prosper Dipietro.” She took it. “You have to do something about that name. Prosper and the blues do not go together.” “Yes they do. I wish they didn’t sometimes.” He was dying to tell his story, she thought. Most people were — his type especially. Scratch them and they flowed like a blood blister. Not from ego. More like conviction. But the heat in his voice triggered a warning: Glowing embers could be stirred into flame. Flames could warm. And then melt. And then burn. “So when does the band take a break? Back Yard Burgers.
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