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      I sat in this cherry-bomb-muffler-66-ish red Ford Mustang listening to him speak.  I could barely make out the words over the purposely loud hum of the muffler.  In all actuality, I could not understand what he was talking about, but it was probably wise to just listen and nod once in a while.  We were on some two lane road on the way to some college, I think Yale, to play some music on the radio.  It was going to be one of those live radio shows with the evening DJ.  I have been taking blues guitar lessons from this guy for the passed two months and progressed fairly well.  A lot of it flowed easily.  I already had been playing for a few years and had a great working knowledge of the pentatonic scale and other variations.

A part of me felt very adventurous, being a twenty-one year old, making a trip to a neighboring town to play some guitar.  Another part of me wondered why I was in the car with an actual musican; a bluesman.  I wondered what place I actually had here.  After all, I was just a kid who did tid-bits tagging behind rock-n-roll guitarists on my old tape recorder.

We wound through this little road, which seemed like forever, and finally it opened up to some busy street, obviously to some larger town.  I wondered if people were going to hear us tonight.  I wondered if people were going to appreciate it.  Tonight, I felt like I was going to be a star.

 
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