I got me da blooze. →[More:] Today was a pretty ordinary day until a young lady sidled up to the selling counter with a laundy cart full of cloth bags and one bag that looked like a little suitcase. I emptied the books out of the cloth ones and as I reached for the little case, she said "No books in there, just a bunch of harmonicas." "What?" "Harmonicas, like ten of them. I found it on the street." She opened it, and sure enough, there they lay like Little Walter's honeymoon luggage. "Want one? I found the case on the street." (There's somebody out there all bloozed up with no place to go, I guess). "Sure," I said and picked out a Hohner Marine Band model with a sticker on it saying 'Low D.' I live within phlegm-hawking distance of two railroad tracks, so my life is crying out for a mouth organ, you know. It's currently soaking in a cup full of soapy water in the kitchen.

When I got home, I saw my landlady's son on the stoop smoking a cigar and told him the tale of the magic Hohner from Heaven and he seemed amused. Sadly, a few minutes later as I tried to open my apartment door I discoved my lock was broken and summoned him and a friend who he was talking to. They took a ladder out of the garage and I climbed the three floors (just call me a second story man) to get in our porch door (and tied it to a lawn chair so it wouldn't get stolen-a major worry of the aforementioned landlord's son). After about an hour of unscrewing, gouging and loud Grecian cursing, the lock mechanism was removed and they're out getting a new one.

I got me them broken door in Astoria, climbin' ladders on Ditmars Boulevard bah-looze...

(my blues name is Caffienated Slim, I've decided.