Maudit waters
There’s a toothless old black and blues guy in the middle of Montpellier’s main square, Place de la Comédie. Though strategically located, he never seems to earn a single franc. A few brassy tokens of pity, but nothing that’ll help him get by.
Now, I’m not entirely sure why this is, but it may have something to do with the fact that his battered to near splintered guitar has only a single slack string, untuned.
Or it could lie in the manner of expression of his original compositions, not so much sung as raked gravel yelped, roadkill demise, in a disturbing Tom Waits-Marion Davies fusion,
‘Hee-ye-ye / lookeee me mahn / lookee meee!! /Ah’m/ eeeee / radiowoacteeeve!!’
Dire non-brilliance ignored in the air that struggles to pass between constant bustling. A cackle presto for some lunatic seconds, till he tumbles two octaves to a chuckle that resonates hollow as lonely.
Then suddenly aware of in public so… second verse, same as the first.
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