The BluesDefeaterTravels He found himself waiting again.Out at the crossroads, out on the lam.This time not running, this time by right.A road-side hitcher waits for headlights.“The blues won’t bring me down.”That pick-up truck stopped. “Where you headed, kid?”“Back to the boardwalk coast to fix the wrong I did.”That old man would bring him just as far as he could.His hellhound sniffing out for a trace of any good.The hope he’s chasing.The blues he carried are dead and buried.