Last time I saw JT he was heading south on Dorgenois, with a case of beer on one shoulder.
“Where you headed?” I asked him.
“Me and some guys gonna ride it out down on Ann Street.”
“At Big Chief’s?”
He nodded. I could picture it: JT, Albert, Shorty…Big Chief on bass. All them guys, jamming louder than any hurricane. “You oughtta join us,” he said.
But Gran Marnier was all alone up in Goodbee, so’s I was headed up to board her windows and hit the grocery.
Never saw any a them again. Sometimes, I wish I’d stayed.
This has been an edition of Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. This week’s photo courtesy Janet Webb.
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