Outskirts of Town

Enter several ROADSWEEPERS, pushing their carts. They sing in unison:

The wise man sleeps on a bed of wool, 

The lazy man sleeps on a bed of feathers.

The rheumatic sleeps on wood,

And the rogue on a pretty girl's breasts.

If I were a worker at a Ferromanganese Plant just outside of Brescia in Italy, I would have Parkinson's by now. Instead I have lower-lombar pains that I drown in Tylenol, assuming postures only rivaled by the most self-conscious, vegan, steven and chris-watching, homosexuals. 

Calamity James

You've all probably seen it by now... "Calamity James" has struck again. The lad just doesn't do himself any justice, with these silly mistakes. How is Capello expected to stick with him, when he pulls off performances as willy wonky and ghastly as this spectacle against Wolfsburg? and you all know what I'm talking about, he's done it time and time again. He's been sterling between the sticks all season and then... good lord... who was he passing the bloody thing to?

"Porous Portsmouth Crash Out of UEFA" reads the headlines now... the kids aren't alright. You haven't done Tony Adams a whole lot of good now, have you James? He'll be the next one to get the hammer. 

Oh and Big Sam's got a shoe-in at the proverbial door at Sunderland? Keano couldn't handle it.. even after months of sporting that horrendous beard! Ferguson throws in his weight behind Ince, eh...didn't see him do that for good ol' keano?

17 dogs tried to track us down

"1938, he was 27. At that time, the Blacks often died beaten by the Whites."

Seasick Steve picked up a beat guitar and assembled / deconstructed his ragged persona, under bridges and under the noses of the Whites. He's a white, he's American. He was a hobo, living in France, spewing out the blues that comes naturally to those with fervour of the heart and leaky shoes. He bled it out for frenchmen, wearing white pants, and rosied up cheeks, from too much wine and too little discretion; thinking to themselves who is this ragged yank, how come he's got soul, and should I dispense with a euro?

...though we all wish to feed on certainties,

few things are certain,

but one thing is clear, blues saves lives, and ragged old dharma bums once laid out to dry, hitching train rides with ol' moriarty, can earn a dime or two on forgiving parisian streets.