The night started out with 2 racists in the Middle East Nightclub & Bar on the South side of Cambridge. Each man on the wrong side of a real bore of an argument. The spit that flew off their tongues stained the fabric of this particular dimension. The one we selfishly call ours.
She wants to tie me up, but I’m scared, so I don’t let her.
So she gets on top, cowgirl style, bites me on the shoulder.
“OWWW!” I yell.
“I want to hear you scream,” she says.
“Just don’t hurt me.”
“Oh, be a man.”
She rides me hard, with vigor, rubbing herself until she comes.
Then she dismounts, walks away, goes to the bathroom, won’t say a word, just like a guy.
Eight a.m. in San Juan, California and it’s already eighty-two degrees on this June morning. I’m in running shorts and a tee-shirt as I step out my front door to pick up the paper.
The black and white patrol car prowls my street like a predator looking for its next meal. The mechanical beast creeps toward my house, signals a right turn, pulls into my driveway.
Hey, this is for The Sake of Soul, minus rock and roll. I got news for you. I got blues for you. I got things for you to do. Dig what I say. Hear what I play. We gonna fill the hole in your soul, with the best of the blues.