Tracey Lenin Concert History
So there I was, smoking cold in The Blind Beggar, sour mash swirling in my mouth. I didn’t even have a red left in my wallet. The door swung open and Dalmasso stumbled across with a couple of guitars that had lost their owners. He had a sideways look on his face. He knew I wouldn’t buy. Wood, the local fiddle player stopped playing. Dalmasso still owed Wood money for a job he did down the Camden Lock. The three of us just stood there, staring at each other.
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