Blues from San Jose

I'm late, I'm tired, no clever header. This is word and question.

I really, really hate the word plenitude. It's one of my reactionary habits.

My question is probably obvious.

On my way from San Jose
My mind on blues and sin
I met an ass with much to say
Of what he'd done and where he'd been
He sought "a plenitude of drink and lights
And debauchery in San Jose"
And asked me, whether left or right
To send him on his merry way
I thought it odd, this prating ass
And the city of lights, or death
Was, I suppose, his way to pass
For something human, something with breath
Though from his tales he seemed
A dark and wicked, violent thing
With little air of kindness, and in his eye a gleam
I thought he'd gladly tear me, and all the while sing
Of thirty-twos and twenties,
And break my back in two.
But he'd not seen the dark behind me
And in a fit of orn'ry, loathing blues
I spit upon the ass's face
And prayed to San Jose
A good death to die, in grace
For I'd not show the way.