We’re a little late,
but still there before
most everyone else.

They’re setting up,
these two guitar players,
these two singers.

One of their microphones
isn’t working,
so I run home and get one of mine.

.

Can you play Wipeout?
Standard question
back in the 60s.

And we played it.
At least a ragged version.
We were just kids.

Hey there Little Red Riding Hood
You sure are looking good
You’re everything that a big bad wolf could want.

.

I plug the mic in.
More people are here now.
They play some classic folk-rock

These two friends
are good by themselves,
even better together.

One of the boys joins in,
then a drummer
with a cajon.

.

There is a house
in New Orleans
They call the Rising Sun

Same chords,
same progression
as Little Red Riding Hood.

We only knew a few songs.
Never got any good,
never played a coffee house.

.

The place is packed now.
I can’t even see the guys
for all the people.

Their sound is getting lost
in the conversations
and laughter.

They’re having a blast.
Their tip jar has a few bucks
and they’re still going strong.

.

Busted flat in Baton Rouge.
Waiting for a train,
and feeling near as faded as my jeans.

I can almost get it.
But not quite.
Not quite.

Salina, I’m as nowhere as I can be.
I play along as Scott and Seth
sing through the tinny speaker on my phone.

.

But these guys tonight are
playing real music,
in real time, and they’re really good.

The rhythms are right,
the chords are strong,
and the songs are great.

But it’s time to leave,
and as the glass door closes behind us,
we hear Johnny B. Goode tonight.