“I just need to get out of here and become a famous artist and everything else will just fall into place” – Jerome from “Art School Confidential”
In the chicago style blues song in my head a man in the wings is yelling “c’mon baby walk it and talk it. Tell me about it – hit me where it hurts.” Then of course nothing else really happens because eventually the song has to end, the singer steps off stage, the crowd leaves, the house lights go on and the singer has to go home. Eventually. Maybe.
And just what is going to fall into place? Are we looking for Paris in the 20’s or New York in the 50″s? Are you looking at me? I don’t have the answers.