It's the early morning hours in a smoky hole-in-the-wall dive. Inside, a raw, barebones blues band digs into a deep, gutsy groove and pours the soul over clanking beer bottles and yelling patrons. A harp man with a furrowed brow wails and moans, bending metal in his harp while a guitarist, a study in concentration, bends and mangles the strings with a high-pitched bite. Old and young, black and white, give in and shake loose to the infectious rhythms.

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