Thursday, June 23, 2016

Standpipe: Delivering Water In Flint

Looking up a sagging set of wooden stairs at an elderly man, blade thin except for the small planet of his belly beneath a sleeveless tee shirt.  Gray pony tail dry as sisal twine.  Says he needs eight cases, Pure replacement cartridges, had his water tested last month, got a good lead reading.  Gem of a morning we agree, things will heat up this afternoon for sure.  Says friend of his will be over later.  They still plug in and jam.  Play in any bands I ask?  Sure, played in lots of ‘em!  Ever hear of Black Powder?  Drop Forge?  Blues Insurgents?  I hope I haven’t disappointed him too much.  I figure there’s a better than even chance he’s jammed with someone from Grand Funk Railroad, but think better of asking.  Pulling away from the curb accelerating past dilapidated houses sandwiched between overgrown lots, I wonder who’s left to complain about the noise.  

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