Foreign Territory.
I had a fever dream.
I have a new Friday hangout. I would tell you where it is but it only has three seats and Vincent usually comes to visit so there is not much room.
I like a restaurant that still provides a bowl of gratis matchbooks for their “matchless friends.” There are more than a few in New Orleans, which is another reason I like living here. Good traditions linger long in New Orleans.
It really is a different world.
I was at Target in the suburbs this morning. I have not been there in maybe four years… Five? I do not need anything from Target.
Even going about two miles outside Orleans Parish limits, it is a different world. I was the most exotic thing in a two mile radius. I am not used to that, and I spend most of my days within a two mile radius of my house.
I could not tell the difference between boys clothes and girls clothes, down to the mannequins and the photo displays. I always say that people in the real world outside New Orleans are so well adjusted.
I taught this kid how to light a match one-handed, Bogey-style, like a man.
Nancy tried to show him but she lights a match like a girl, and she smokes cigarettes. The kid couldn’t get it. The kid was a boy, a roly-poly hustler whose voice has yet to change.
I took this kid under my wing, big brother-style, a mentor, and I showed him how to light a match like the Fonz would do it. He mastered it on the second try.
Being able to light a match one-handed is a sure way to pick up chicks. It projects nonchalant confidence, not that I would know anything about that.
“Thank you so much for your help, Mr. King,” the kid said.
The kid wanders the neighborhood selling homemade cupcakes. The icing melts in this August heat but people give him five bucks anyway. He is a budding entrepreneur.
When the kid was gone, Nancy said, “I did’t know you could be nice to people.”
Vincent said, “King has a soft spot in his heart for children, midgets, and bald women.”
I read the Wall Street Journal.