……when love came to town

Blues never really interested me. All I know about it is B.B. King’s collaboration with U2 in the ’80s. Learning of his death immediately thrust me back to a time I heard that song (When Love Comes To Town — circa 1988) a thousand times. Playing city league sand volleyball, drinking tomato and ice-bagged beer at every outdoor patio we could find. When we couldn’t find one making it up in our apartments. Playing music on  oversized floor speakers and underpriced jukeboxes as loud and often as possible. Cycling through roommates and dates as often as the turnstile rotated the most popular ride on opening day. Little seemed to matter.

Future plans not discussed. Why bother? Career advancement didn’t matter. We were young, we had good jobs and cash to cover. We had countless friends and overbooked social calendars. Nothing else mattered. Until it did.

‘….I was in a juke joint when I heard a guitar scream

notes were turning blue; I was dazed and in a dream

as the music played I saw my life turn around

that was the day before love comes to town….’

One by one guys started dropping back and dropping off. Worst case (according to us) was happening: gals looking to be exclusive and talk about ‘future plans’ and ‘where is this going’. I found myself with fewer options, more free time and a higher career care-factor. My remaining roommate still mattered; we still wasted untold amounts of time on the vice of the week and the music still drowned most options to overthink things. Until it didn’t. I found myself with an opportunity to get a  little ahead while my roommate found himself dialing back many things to the approval of his almost-fiancee. It was time to move—again.  B.B. King remains one of only two-three blues artists I can name and disappointingly only one of his songs comes to mind.

‘….when love comes to town I’m going to jump that train

when love comes to town I’m going to catch that flame…’

Love did come to town and I found my exit to start fresh. The name of B.B. King will always recall fond, if not fantastic, memories for me. B.B. King, RIP.