As midnight approached, the men looked at each other with faces that were too tired to read.
The first one to speak was “the steel man”. No one knew his real name or how he came by the long scar which meandered down his cheek, but when he spoke, people tended to listen.
A real crazy diamond.
“I’m done walking by myself.” he mused.
“The blues is alright” quipped his hunched over sidekick, grinning furtively as he lit yet another cigarette, his yellow teeth looking jaundiced in the low light.
“Sure, but since I met you, I see that I’m not the only fool in town.” retorted the Steelman.
The tall, good looking Italian with the too perfect chin butted in to silence the others.
“There’s an oh so pretty woman with her motor running, back in my hotel room, so don’t you lie to me.
Why have you dragged us out on a stormy Monday, leaving my little girl alone, feeding us your story of the blues?”
“That was a cold shot” said the till now silent fourth member of the group.
Baker was the muscle of the group - he could end a fight - but would never start it up.
“Stop messing around, why are we here?” blasted the Italian, his chin twitching.
“I want to form a blues band, a band that could be our pride and joy, and I want you three to be my sultans of swing.” the Steelman revealed.
After a long, fertile pause, the Italian tilted his ample left eyebrow and said .... “Count me in!”
The others followed, like a flock of sheep, only sheep that would be herd and not seen.
The first one to speak was “the steel man”. No one knew his real name or how he came by the long scar which meandered down his cheek, but when he spoke, people tended to listen.
A real crazy diamond.
“I’m done walking by myself.” he mused.
“The blues is alright” quipped his hunched over sidekick, grinning furtively as he lit yet another cigarette, his yellow teeth looking jaundiced in the low light.
“Sure, but since I met you, I see that I’m not the only fool in town.” retorted the Steelman.
The tall, good looking Italian with the too perfect chin butted in to silence the others.
“There’s an oh so pretty woman with her motor running, back in my hotel room, so don’t you lie to me.
Why have you dragged us out on a stormy Monday, leaving my little girl alone, feeding us your story of the blues?”
“That was a cold shot” said the till now silent fourth member of the group.
Baker was the muscle of the group - he could end a fight - but would never start it up.
“Stop messing around, why are we here?” blasted the Italian, his chin twitching.
“I want to form a blues band, a band that could be our pride and joy, and I want you three to be my sultans of swing.” the Steelman revealed.
After a long, fertile pause, the Italian tilted his ample left eyebrow and said .... “Count me in!”
The others followed, like a flock of sheep, only sheep that would be herd and not seen.
A STORMY MONDAY
Four guys from the “East side” of town met in a darkened alley off Nowhere street
on just another rain swept September night.............A cold, black night.
on just another rain swept September night.............A cold, black night.
As the hands on the bell tower clock high above clunked beyond eleven fifty-nine and fifty-nine seconds, it seemed right to name the new ensemble....................
Midnight Blues Band.
And the rest is history.....well in the future it will be.
Midnight Blues Band.
And the rest is history.....well in the future it will be.
