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The First Time I Met The Blues
by Arika Elizenberry He trekked from the woods of Louisiana to Chicago, a guitar in tow. The initials B.G. flashed on his ring finger making hard brushing strokes over the strings and running his other hand along the guitar's neck. He plucked and strummed, throwing his head about, tossing sweat, gritting his teeth. Out his mouth came a voice - gritty and coarse, like what grew on his head. The first time I-I... echoed harmoniously in my veins with the low thumping tempos and-- every word he sang became my own. |
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