Jake had a vision. It was his, the only real one he'd ever had, and he clung to it. It had always been the blues. Even back in the Rock Island City orphanage (that sweaty kid factory) Jake and Elwood were saved by the music. Actually, saved by a gray-haired janitor everybody called Curtis. He wore sinister midnight shades, a narrow black tie and a porkpie hat that he kept pushed back on his head. Curtis wrapped his waxy brown hands around his guitar neck and played the most dangerous blues this side of Robert Johnson. The nuns scorched the brothers’ days with holy threats and Curtis rescued them by night. Down in the coolness of his basement he taught them the blues and set in motion their mission: to live the healing message of music.
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