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.