An angry murmur runs through the crowd as Steve takes the stage, guitar in hand. Swaggering Bob's Dolorous House of Chitlins and Other Culinary Oddities has long had a reputation for being THE REAL HOME OF THE BLUES. Perhaps the crowd sees him as a poser, a fake, a fraud. Steve smiles to himself. This is just what he expected, but they'd come around, he was sure of it. All he had to do was play his music. All he had to do was show them all where he'd been.
"My friends!" he cried to the increasingly hostile audience before him, "I beseech thee, hark! Mayhaps you gaze towards the stage and see a white man, a poser. Mayhaps you are thinking: what can this man know of the blues? What, I ask you? What?
Well, on the subject of the blues, I have only this to say: I not only understand the blues, I AM the blues, for I have SEEN it. I have BEEN THROUGH IT. IT HAS HAPPENED TO ME. I have eaten THAT TASTY FISH SANDWICH from Fishy Joe's. I have POOPED IT OUT. My soul has been shredded along with my insides, and I can tell you, my fingers bleed the blues, just as my bowels bleed the stench of the sea.
And thus, now, without further ado, I give you mine own original blues composition.