A few hours after the verdict became public, In the Evening, Poor Tom was down by The Ocean, partying like a Fool in the Rain. His elation was obvious, although slightly saddened because his wife was not there to share the moment with him. She was now Ten Years Gone, and he recalled how she told him “Since I’ve Been Loving You, I have found No Quarter where I can be In the Light and listen to my Rock and Roll, not your damn Candy Store Rock! I’m Going to California, and if need be, I’m Gonna Crawl, with the pavement Wearing and Tearing at my knees, like a Black Dog with rabies.”
“I don’t care if I starve. I’ll have a Tangerine or some Custard Pie, enjoy Tea for One, Thank You, because Over the Hills and Far Away are the Houses of the Holy, and one of them guards the Stairway to Heaven. I’m going there, to share All My Love, and if I face the Gallows Pole, your faith in me will keep me strong. I may be staging Achilles Last Stand, and should I be defeated during the Battle of Evermore, wounded on the shore like a modern-day Moby Dick, always remember that, In My Time of Dying, it was Nobody’s Fault but Mine.”
Poor Tom was devastated. He had come to this country to escape a wretched existence in Kashmir, and he remembered humming the Immigrant Song as he went through customs, thrilled to finally be free! Right then and there he swore to himself that, damn, When the Levee Breaks the Dancing Days will be over, Trampled Under Foot, and his rage will be so great that it will reach into the Ozone Baby!
He would catch a Night Flight, get a ticket on the final Misty Mountain Hop, seek shelter at Bonzo’s Montreux. No D’Yer Mak’er would ever force him to Ramble On up by the Black Mountain Side of Blueberry Hill, just to get a Hot Dog and Bring It On Home. He thought, C’Mon Everybody, How Many More Times, how many Good Times, Bad Times, did he have left? No longer a youngster, Poor Tom was dismayed.
Poor Tom really missed Darlene. He’d met her when his dog Four Sticks got away from him Down by the Seaside during that White Summer, the one that had left him Dazed and Confused. She’d been his Heartbreaker, and every Celebration Day she gave him a Whole Lotta Love, usually Out on the Tiles, by The Rover that his Friends gave as a wedding present. He wondered if, while in California, Darlene got Sick Again and met some LA Drone, a real La La case, at the Travelling Riverside Blues gathering he’d heard about. He sent his Sugar Mama a telegraph, but a Communication Breakdown left nothing said, and soon What Is and What Should Never Be were getting closer to each other.
That was long ago. After his wife got the Hots On for Nowhere and left him at the Royal Orleans, Poor Tom moved to Spanish Harlem and opened the Boogie with Stu dance studio. In a matter of a few years he began franchising studios nationwide, and soon Poor Tom became Trillionaire Thomas. When asked “Hey, Hey, What Can I Do to make it big like you?”, he would say, “Only put your trust in a name when The Song Remains The Same”.