by Smitty
“What?”
“I’ll have another Shirley Temple.”
“OK.”
“You the new hire? You’re not laughing at me for skipping alcohol?”
“No. You’re the customer. I don’t drink, either.”
“Then what are you doing here?” 
“Pay’s good, until I get signed. Here’s your drink.”
“What do you play? Here.” Handed him a ten.
“Guitar. Blues. Here’s change.”
“I want to hear you.”
“Park. Tomorrow. Noon. Busking like usual.”
He was. His blues were serviceable.
He was stunned when the bar owner offered him play the evenings gig.
Until she was in the front row and the family resemblance was obvious.
No pressure.
—
via Darleen
[…] exemption, but wired (which I perused this week) is now anaemic and converged, or family businesses servicing the less talented, Or just deeply corrupt, as the US political elite clearly […]