I wanted to share a recent experience with you (for those of you not familiar with Boulder, we used to have an eyesore known as the Crossroads Mall).
Ok, something happened to me on my way home on the night of October’s full moon. I couldn’t be sure if what I think happened actually happened. I needed some time to process. Well, now I think I can let you in on it, freaky and unbelievable though it is.
I’d been at the Outlook listening to some great, soulful blues and decided to walk home. I was Walking up the road with my laptop in my bag propped up on my shoulder on an October cool night, a full moon filling up the dark sky. I was thinking about the blues preaching to me, when I heard, "Put that laptop down, girl, you drivin' people nuts." It was a quiet, dark and lonesome road, with a crazed, poisoned dog howling and moaning in a ditch alongside the road sending electrified chills up and down my spine, as I was coming up on the ghost of the demolished Crossroads Mall just south of home. Then I saw a man sitting off to the side of the road on a log at the heart if the old Crossroads Mall, and he says, "You're late, Honey Sepeda." I dropped to my knees and said, "Maybe not."
The man stood up, tall, barrel-chested, and black as forever, and walked out to the middle of the old Crossroads Mall where I kneeled down. He says, "Stand up, Honey Sepeda. You want to throw that laptop over there in that ditch with that hairless dog and go on back to the Outlook and just listen, because you just another blues reviewer like all the rest, or you want to write about the blues like nobody ever wrote about it before? Turn phrases nobody ever heard before? You want to be the Queen of the Blues Writers and have all the whiskey and men you want?"
