The Blind Pig smelled of beer and loneliness. Marcus Williams sat at the out-of-tune piano and played until his fingers ached. Five people in the room. Three asleep. Sam O'Brien in the back corner, drumsticks on his knees like a soldier's rifle.
Sam was crying when the last note faded. "Go to New Orleans," he said after the set. "Old Jelly Roll knows a chord that makes anyone understand exactly who they are." The Ford T was a crime against engineering. Blue over red. Engine coughing like a dog with fur in its throat. They left Harlem at 2:00 AM. Pittsburgh: steel workers clapping for the same song. Black and white workers, not looking...
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