Congratulations Coltrane!

“Hey, fuck off Isaac Hayes!” the children will shout.

You’ll be hurt, not by their sentiment, but by their ignorance. You don’t croon or use your deep, seductive voice (which you have, sort of). You blow your soulful horn into the night air.

For the last three years you’ve lit up Newbury Street with your songs, from the area just outside of Sugar Heaven to area immediately around the Copley T stop, but every time someone fails to appreciate your craft it still stings.

Luckily you’re a strong soul and instead of letting it grind you down you’ll take all that negative energy and make it into some positive music.

It’ll be all for naught, though, because you perform exclusively on street corners. Or so it will seem.

After the children have finished ridiculing you and gone on to buy discount candy and air guitar to classic rock outside of the store a man dressed in rags will shamble up to you. He’ll look like life has just ground him down to a nub, so you’ll blow your horn twice as hard for him, knowing that if you do it just right you’ll make his night.

At first he’ll just sway back and forth to your music, smiling all the while. After the second song he’ll be dancing in gentle circles, occasionally sipping from a paper bag. By the end of the night he’ll be working the crowd for you, collecting tips and chatting people up, getting them into the mood.

By the night’s end the two of you will have earned almost two hundred dollars. Not too shabby for one night’s work. You’ll thank him and offer him half the pot as a reward, but he’ll shake his head and push it back towards you. Then he’ll introduce himself.

“Son,” he’ll say in a thick, drunken Irish accent, “Me name be Seamus O’Tannery-Flannery.”

Your eyes will go wide. Seam O’Tannery-Flannery, famed homeless soul music producer and all around bon-vivant, just spent the night traipsing with you. He’ll smile at your shock.

“I see ya know me then.”

You’ll nod emphatically, excited to be standing in the presence of such an incredible character.

“Well ‘n.’ How would ye like to spend the night in me recording studio?”

You’ll do your best to ignore his leprechaun like speech and follow him to his studio, where you’ll have the night of your life. Except for the part where he gets a little bit too drunk and tries to rape you. But these things happen in the music industry, especially when you get hobos and booze involved.

Just try to be cool about it and enjoy the start of your new rise to fame as a musician.

Congratulations Coltrane!