Here's a tawdry little tale: the tip bucket is on the side table, and after a few bucks have been dunked, the blind guy comes up to it. We've been watching him for weeks, suspecting he may be making withdrawals rather than deposits. We end the song and the guitar player charges him, pushing him away from the tin pail and against the wall. The fight stops just in time: the band doesn't need to be known for assaulting the blind.
"He's not blind," one guy says. "I've seen him ride his bicycle at night."
"Hey," I go, "If he's blind, what does he care if it's day or night?"
