I used to live in a loft in Manhattan's wholesale flower market. 28th Street between 6th & 7th.
Upstairs lived a young boy, with his father. That same lad claimed, decades later, to have heard the blues coming up, from my place, through the floorboards. Now he lives in New Orleans and earns his crust as an itenerant bluesman. Touring constantly around the USA. He asked me, not long ago, to paint him an LP album cover. Here 'tis - sans record title and his name ... which will come later at the printers. By the way, he gave up the cigarettes.
