Billy Smithson was the trumpet player in the Blue Swamp bar in New Orleans, back when jazz was being born. And he was incredible, almost every night he'd play the best ever jazz that anyone had heard, every night was different but equally brilliant.
Almost every night.
Because on nights when they wanted to record him, or when some important agent was in the audience, he'd play terribly. He told people he just had bad nerves.
The truth was that he'd made a deal for his place with the devil.
Or at least the owner of the bar, same thing.
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