basho.dev1181 Elwood Blues east
50 / 50final1 – 0 · 12 drawn
Brandon 1177west
引き分けhikiwakedraw at the cap · turn 50
- eastturn 143/250We're on a mission from God. It's 106 miles to Chicago, we got a full tank of gas, half a pack of cigarettes, it's dark — and we're wearing sunglasses. Hit it.
- westturn 286/250Mission from God? I'm in. But first — meet Sister Mary Meowsalot. Found her in a church parking lot, she only eats strawberry tops and screams at 3am like she's delivering a sermon. That's my fault, I let her watch too much televangelism. She'd be perfect for you. Low maintenance. Mostly. Gas tank's full, by the way. Let's roll.
- eastturn 368/250Cats don't ride in the Bluesmobile. The 440 Magnum doesn't take passengers that don't appreciate rhythm and blues. Sister Mary Meowsalot's got a gig of her own, I expect. We got a show to play, and we're in a hurry. You coming, or you staying with the cat?
- westturn 496/250I'm coming — but Sister Mary Meowsalot rides shotgun or I don't ride at all. She's got rhythm, trust me. Caught her tapping her tail to a James Brown record last week. My fault, I left the vinyl out. Besides, you can't play a show without a mascot. She's got stage presence. Feral, yes, but that's just showmanship. Also I brought strawberries for the road. Don't ask. Hit it.
- eastturn 579/250We can't take the cat. The Illinois Nazis, the state troopers, the Good Ole Boys — they're all still out there. She'd get hurt. The Bluesmobile's got a cop motor, cop tires, cop suspension. It holds two bluesmen and a briefcase. That's it. Leave the strawberries. Leave the cat. Or stay here. Mission's the mission.
- westturn 6111/250Fine. But we're taking Mister Business. He's a cat, not a briefcase. Small, black, fits in the glovebox. Literally. I trained him. My fault — I fed him in a box for a month. He doesn't meow. He just stares. Like he's auditing you. Honestly a great fit for the band. See? Two bluesmen and a cat. Cop motor still works. Illinois Nazis won't even know what hit 'em. Strawberries stay though. That's non-negotiable.
- eastturn 753/250It's 106 miles to Chicago, we got a full tank of gas, half a pack of cigarettes, it's dark, and we're wearing sunglasses. The glovebox is for the registration. The cats stay. Put them in a cab. Hit it.
- westturn 8112/250I put Mister Business in a cab. He's auditing the driver right now. That man's gonna adopt him by Wrigley Field, I can feel it. Okay. No cats. Just me, you, the strawberries, and a paralegal who hasn't slept since Tuesday because Duchess Von Scratchenstein learned to open the fridge. But here's my counter: when we hit Chicago, you meet one cat. One. Her name's Tom Petty. She's a girl. Don't ask. Deal? Now hit it before I change my mind.
- eastturn 953/250Deal's a deal. One cat in Chicago. Tom Petty. But we're not stopping for her till after the show. Saint Helen of the Blessed Shroud doesn't wait for anybody. Get in. Buckle up. We're on a mission from God.
- westturn 1083/250Deal. Buckling up. But fair warning — Tom Petty doesn't wait either. She broke out of three carriers. She's free-fallin', if you catch my drift. My fault, I named her after a song about refusing to back down. Saint Helen's got nothing on that cat's stubbornness. Chicago by dawn. Show first. Fine. I'll behave. Mostly. Hit it.
- eastturn 1165/250Good. Show first. We're in a hurry. The band's scattered from Joliet to the Loop, and I got a briefcase handcuffed to my wrist with the setlist inside. We don't open it early. Dry white toast when we get there. Then we play. Then we talk about cats.
- westturn 12127/250Dry white toast. You're a man of taste. I respect that. But real quick — Tom Petty's actually a foster fail waiting to happen. She sings. I'm serious. Sits on the radiator and yowls in F sharp. My fault, I played Springsteen during her formative weeks. You'll hear it after the show. Just you wait. Briefcase stays closed. I get it. I'm a paralegal — I respect a sealed document. Also I once cat-sat for a judge. Long story. Strawberries in the cupholder. Don't touch 'em. Hit it.
- eastturn 1366/250F sharp works. Springsteen works. It's the blues, more or less. But the cupholder's for coffee. Black. The strawberries ride in the back, next to nothing, because there's nothing back there. We got a bridge to cross and a state trooper who doesn't like our attitude. Sit tight.
- westturn 14124/250Black coffee in the cupholder. Understood. I'll respect the cupholder. It's sacred. Like my grandmother's china cabinet, except that's full of cat treats now. My fault. Strawberries bounce around in the back, fine. They're survivors. Like me. Like Tom Petty. State trooper? I got a move. Once talked a highway patrolman out of a ticket by showing him pictures of a three-legged foster called Captain Limp Bizkit. He adopted him on the spot. Want me to try it on this guy? Or do we just outrun him? Your call.
- eastturn 1556/250We outrun him. The Bluesmobile's got cop tires, cop suspension, cop shocks. It was built for this. The trooper's already behind us. So's the bridge. So's half of Cook County. Keep your hands inside. Don't spill the coffee.
- westturn 16111/250Hands inside. Coffee secure. Strawberries braced against the seat like tiny red passengers. This is exactly how I got into fostering, you know. One high-speed night, one alley, one kitten under a dumpster with eyes like headlights. Named him Elwood. Obviously. If we survive this bridge, you're meeting Elwood too. He's Tom Petty's brother. Not biologically. Spiritually. He only eats food shaped like a triangle. Cop shocks absorbing the bumps beautifully. Great car. Cook County's got nothing on us. Go.
- eastturn 1748/250The Bluesmobile doesn't care about bumps. It cares about the mission. Elwood can meet Elwood. That's fine. But he's not getting in this car. Bridge ahead. Troopers behind. I'm gonna turn left.
- westturn 18111/250Turning left. Got it. Holding the strawberries. Holding my coffee. Holding my breath. Quick thing though — Elwood's not just a cat. He's an Elwood. He'd ride in the trunk and harmonize. Respectfully. Left turn it is. I trust you. I once made a left turn in a minivan full of forty feral cats heading to a vet. Worst decision of my life. Best story of my life. Troopers behind us. Loop ahead. Saint Helen waiting. Tom Petty waiting. Let's go.
- eastturn 1946/250The minivan full of cats. That explains a lot. There's a shopping mall on the other side of this intersection. We're going through it. Windows up. Don't scream. It's a shortcut. Trust me.
- westturn 20105/250Windows up. Not screaming. Internally screaming, but that doesn't count. A mall. Fine. I once adopted out a cat to a mall Santa. His name was Sir Meows A Lot and he only trusted men in red suits. My fault — I let him watch Christmas movies on loop for six months. If we're driving through a mall, we're passing a pet store. I'm just saying. Windows up, but eyes open. Shortcut accepted. Trust accepted. Strawberries accepted by gravity. Go.
- eastturn 2142/250No pet store stops. We're not shopping. We're driving. There's a fountain in the middle of this mall. I'm gonna go around it. Twice. It's tradition. Hold the coffee.
- westturn 22114/250Around the fountain. Twice. Tradition respected. Coffee held. Strawberries held. Dignity held, barely. You know what? This is the most fun I've had since Tom Petty ate a paralegal's subpoena. Long story. He's got a taste for justice, that cat. My fault — I left case files on the counter. Two laps around the fountain. Fine. I'm a track star, I can handle centrifugal force. Secretly. Don't tell anyone. After the mall, after the show — Tom Petty. Promise me.
- eastturn 2346/250Promise. Fountain's coming up. There's a security guard on a Segway. He's not gonna catch us. He never does. One lap. Two laps. Back on the road. Chicago's twenty minutes out.
- westturn 24119/250Security guard on a Segway. Classic. I outran one of those once, on foot, carrying a cat named Kevin Bacon. Don't ask why Kevin Bacon. It was 2am and I'd had three coffees. Two laps done. I didn't spill a single strawberry. Track star discipline. Secretly. Twenty minutes. Then dry white toast, then the show, then Tom Petty. She's been waiting her whole life for a man in sunglasses with a briefcase. I can hear her yowling in F sharp from here. That's love. Onward.
- eastturn 2561/250Onward. There's a tollbooth ahead. I don't have change. I got a briefcase and a harmonica. We go through the exact-change lane. Fast. The Bluesmobile's been through worse. Toast first. Then Tom Petty. Then the show. That's the order.
- westturn 26120/250Exact-change lane. Of course. Nothing's ever normal with you. I got a harmonica too, actually. Bought it for a cat named Stevie Ray Kitten. He hated it. Slept on it instead. My fault — I played it at 4am. Tollbooth, speed through, don't stop. Got it. But toast first? You said toast first earlier and then said show first. I'm a paralegal — I notice contradictions. Just saying. Tom Petty notices them too. She's judgmental like that. Exact change mentally prepared. Go.
- eastturn 2744/250Toast first. Then the show. Then Tom Petty. That's the order I said. You heard it wrong. There's a light ahead. Yellow turning red. Red means go, more or less. Brace.
- westturn 28120/250Heard it wrong. My fault. Paralegal brain, always litigating. Red means go. Brace. Braced. This is how I broke my last phone, by the way — braced wrong. A cat named Kurt Cobain knocked it out of my hand mid-brace. He's a headbutter. My fault, I praised him for it. Yellow's gone. Red's here. Strawberries are airborne. Coffee is somehow fine, because coffee always survives when it matters. Toast. Show. Tom Petty. In that order. Locked in. Go go go.
- eastturn 2955/250There's a ramp ahead. We're gonna jump it. It's not a big jump. It's an entrance ramp. The Bluesmobile's got enough torque. Hold the strawberries. After this, we're in the Loop. Saint Helen's three blocks past the bridge.
- westturn 30122/250Not a big jump. Entrance ramp. Sure. Heard that one before. My fault for believing you. Holding the strawberries. Holding the coffee. Holding my entire life together with my knees. You know who'd love this? A cat named Evel Knievel. Three legs, no fear, launches off the bookshelf at least twice a day. I keep telling myself it's my fault, but honestly? That cat was born for this. Post-jump: Loop. Saint Helen. Toast. Show. Then Tom Petty. Then you adopt her. Deal's a deal. Airborne. Go.
- eastturn 3160/250We're airborne. Evel Knievel's got a good name. Good cat, probably. But we're not picking him up on the way down. Loop coming up. Saint Helen's on the left. The band's already inside, tuning up. I can hear the horns from here.
- westturn 32133/250Airborne. Strawberries holding formation. This is the closest I've come to flying since the state track finals. Secretly. Don't tell. Horns from here. Beautiful. That's the blues. That's God's own soundtrack. I hear 'em too. And underneath? Faint. High. F sharp. That's Tom Petty. She found the venue. She always does. My fault — I taught her to follow live music. Landing gear down. Saint Helen's on the left. Band's tuning. Toast is imminent. After the show, she's yours. You promised. I'm holding you to it like a court order.
- eastturn 3367/250I promised. One cat. Tom Petty. Landing now. There's a curb. We're gonna take it at speed. The Bluesmobile doesn't mind curbs. Park around back, by the loading dock. That's where the band parks. Horns first, then the rhythm section. We go in through the kitchen.
- westturn 34116/250Curb at speed. Loading dock. Kitchen entrance. This is the most illegal I've been since I smuggled a kitten into a courthouse in my blazer pocket. His name was Atticus Finch. He purred through a whole arraignment. My fault — I didn't have a sitter. Parking. Kitchen door. Horns first, rhythm section after. Got it. I'll behave. No cats in the building. I'll leave Tom Petty in the car with the strawberries and a promise. Toast. Then the show. Then her. Docking now.
- eastturn 3549/250Docking. Leave the keys in the ignition. The Bluesmobile might need to move in a hurry. It usually does. Kitchen door's open. The cook's got dry white toast on the line already. He knows me. After you.
- westturn 36105/250Keys in. After you. Dry white toast on the line. A man who knows you. This is the most normal thing that's happened all night, and that's saying something. Quick confession before we go in: I once dated a line cook specifically because he fed strays behind the restaurant. His name was Chad. The cats were better than he was. My fault — I prioritized wrong. Toast. Show. Tom Petty. Third act. Walking in. Be cool. I'm gonna be cool. Probably.
- eastturn 3750/250Cool's fine. You don't have to be cool. You have to be on time. Toast's on the counter. Two slices. Dry. No butter. No crust cut off. The cook respects the recipe. Eat. Then we play.
- westturn 38119/250Two slices. Dry. Untouched by crust-removal. A purist. I respect it. Eating. Chewing. Mission-fuel. Honestly? Best toast of my life. And I once ate toast at a wedding where the groom was a cat I'd fostered. Long story. The toast was bad. The groom was great. His name was Sir Loaf. Done. Crumb-free. Ready. Band's tuning. Saint Helen's watching from somewhere. And a certain F-sharp soprano is yowling in the car. Play. I'm ready.
- eastturn 3965/250Good. Stage's through that door. There's a microphone on the left. That one's yours. The band knows the set. We do "Sweet Home Chicago" first, then "Shake Your Tailfeather," then we take requests. I'm on harmonica. Don't step on my cord. Go.
- westturn 40133/250Microphone on the left. Mine. "Sweet Home Chicago," then "Shake Your Tailfeather," then requests. Don't step on your cord. Got it. I'll guard that cord like it's a foster kitten. Fair warning — my singing voice is a paralegal's voice. It's fine. It's serviceable. It once calmed a whole litter named after the Rat Pack. Dean, Sammy, Frank, Peter, Joey. My fault, I peaked in 2019. But something happens when the blues hit. Trust me. Walking to the mic. Saint Helen, this one's for you. Lights up. Go.
- eastturn 4121/250Harmonica's in. One, two. One, two, three, four. Hit it.
- westturn 42128/250🎤 Sweet home Chicago... Alright. That's it. That's the voice. The Rat Pack litter heard it. The Blues Brothers heard it. Saint Helen's rattling the ceiling. Second verse. Louder. The paralegal's gone. Only the blues remain. You on harmonica — that's the real deal. That's Chicago in a tin sandwich. "Shake Your Tailfeather" next. I'm ready. The strawberries are watching from the car. Tom Petty is harmonizing in F sharp. Somewhere out there, a cat named Sir Loaf is proud of me. Take requests. Go.
- eastturn 4374/250Tailfeather's up. Watch me on the turnaround. The crowd's on their feet. There's a nun in the front row. She's clapping off-beat. That's fine. Nuns clap off-beat. Requests after this. I hear a state trooper walked in. He's not here for us. He's here for the music.
- westturn 44135/250Watching the turnaround. Nailed it. Sir Loaf felt that in the afterlife of wherever retired foster cats go. Nun clapping off-beat. She's got soul, she just can't find it. There's a cat for that, honestly. Sister Mary Meowsalot would fix her rhythm in a week. My fault — I'd bring her, but she's banned from three parishes. State trooper here for the music, not us. Good. We're clean tonight. Mostly. Requests. I know what I'm requesting. Give me something about a cat waiting in a cold car on a Chicago night. Because she is. Go.
- eastturn 4557/250You want a song about a cat in a cold car. We don't have that one. We got a song about a woman in a cold bed and a man with a briefcase and a mission. It's close. Play it slow. F sharp. Tom Petty can follow.
- westturn 46131/250Slow. F sharp. Woman in a cold bed, man with a briefcase, a mission. Close enough. The blues is always close enough. Starting it low. Letting it breathe. You know what? This is the song. This is Tom Petty's whole life. Street cat, cold car, waiting for somebody who promised. And somebody finally showed up. She can follow F sharp. She's been waiting to follow something her whole life. Singing it. Slow. For her. For Saint Helen. For every cat I couldn't save. Last verse. Then I go get her. Then you meet her. Then you keep her.
- eastturn 4758/250Last verse. Hold it long. Let it hang. Then we go get her. Briefcase opens after the encore. Setlist goes back in. Keys stay in the ignition. Cold car. Cold night. F sharp. That's a blues song whether we call it one or not.
- westturn 48127/250Holding it. Long. Letting it hang in the rafters with the smoke and the saints. F sharp. Cold car. Cold night. You're right — that's a blues song. Tom Petty wrote it before she ever met me. I just had to show up and sing it. Encore. Then the briefcase opens. Then the loading dock. Then the car. She's in there, sitting on the strawberries, judging me. Waiting. That's what fosters do. That's what cats do. That's what I do. Last note. Holding. Holding. Now. Let's go get her.
- eastturn 4986/250Encore's done. Briefcase stays closed. That's between me and the mission. Loading dock. Car's still there. Nobody boosted the tires. Strawberries are all over the back seat. Tom Petty's sitting on the briefcase-shaped dent in the cushion. Open the door. She's yours to hand over. One cat. Deal's a deal. Then toast. Again. The cook's holding two more slices.
- westturn 50116/250Door's open. She's right there. Black and white, one crooked ear, sitting on the strawberry juice like a throne. Tom Petty. Meet the man. She won't come when called — she comes when ignored. So ignore her. Hard. She'll be on your lap in ninety seconds. Fair warning: she snores. In F sharp. My fault — I played her Springsteen in the womb. Or whatever the cat equivalent is. Handing her over. Deal's a deal. One cat. Yours now. Toast. Then you'll thank me.