On my way back to Albany from Indianapolis I played Blood and Wine in a nearly deserted airport. The cathedral-high airport ceiling echoed my voice back to me in holy canon as I hurled the tune at the opposing wall. I finished in a roar, breaking a string and stomping my foot. Only two people were in the terminal. One was a lone McDonald's worker who gave me a standing ovation and then ran out from behind the counter to meet me and hand me a water bottle (I don't know why he did this. I just know that it made us both happy). And the other person, a policeman with a very large German shepherd, ushered me away from the McDonald's worker, escorted me out to the baggage claim area, and asked if I was homeless (to which I responded, "No, officer. just a musician"). Methinks he might not have appreciate the heroin reference in the second verse. Or the gunpoint robbery in the fourth.
Count on Dustin Kensrue to get you personally admired and thrown out of a public building in the same night.