Nineteen years ago, our friend David Z. was on vacation in southern Colorado with his buddy who he describes as a gray haired, Jewish, neuro-psychologist from Brooklyn. They stayed in a log cabin motel with a bar.
That night, the jukebox stopped playing and his friend asked if he could play the piano and sat down and played boogie-woogie. After one song, the place went wild. As David Z. describes, a Harley rider, with a slicked back pony tail, old fashioned tattoos, wearing an unfashionably tight t-shirt, went outside returning with a whole set of harmonicas and joined in. For David Z. these two guys couldn’t have been more different.