Wednesday, April 22, 2009

Buck for the juke box

Doors open to the passing world, spring sidles into the place, warm and bright, half blinding me.
Janis singing about how high the cotton is, what the catfish are doing. A woman in tight blue jeans and white blouse fills the doorway for a second, she's gone but the image lingers for just a little bit. A breeze clears the stale smoke, riffles the hair Armand still has left on his head.
C'mon. I'll buy ya a cold one.

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