Abaft the Blues Fest

Red-orange earworms admonish taptoo! fashion, now clear the drum is an old, beat suitcase rigged with foot pedal, and, too, there they are, tin bells on his curled toes, as literal as pencil lead, as calloused as an oak pew hymnal. Lavender fresh, she sang at Hop’s Hootenanny, sipped mint juleps from a food cartContinue reading “Abaft the Blues Fest”