Later Patter

Just rain, like the poor man said, you duck under an awning, it's not brain surgery. I don't pay any attention to the weather anymore, Barb has offered me the sofa, at the pub, and there are any number of places I could spread my down pallet. A certain credence, inspired by repetition, I'm not a threat to small children or pets, benign is the word usually applied. Hard rain starts to fall. The drumming is so loud I can't hear the radio; it's like a chainsaw, more than a hundred decibels. I mumble a few phrases, but they're incomprehensible in the din. I've never heard it so loud. Glad I left the Jeep at the bottom of the hill. Allows a bit of flexibility in terms of coming and going. The best guitar I've heard in years, Tommy something, like Leo in spades. Overlapping harmonics. Scat, Saint Peter. Paul. Number nine coal. Tommy Emmanuel. God, he can play. Let it rain, I've got those deep river blues. If you're on the banks of the Ohio, you're granted that. Real talent is rare. A huckleberry Finn. Walking my baby back home. I'd better go. Finally got my phone back. I'd better send these.