"When I lived in Texas sometime around '71, almost every night we drank the money we'd made that day, at a little honky tonk on 7th. Great God! I feel as if I haven't heard the blues since then. It was hot, so hot you could feel the dust burn your lungs. If we didn't have whiskey, man, we had nothing. One Sunday it rained, hard, the kind of rain that floods all the arroyos and in those years used to close the highways, and the honky tonk shut down because the woman who ran it had to handle flooding at her mother-in-law's. Joe came back from Louisiana, he'd hitched it to New Orleans and was supposed to be back before the rain, but ended up in a five-dollar motel in Blue Bayou. When he did finally turn up, Sharon, his woman, she shot him, she'd had enough of his nonsense and I believed she left that day for Los Angeles until years later I had a postcard from her, she was living in Chicago. I cleared out of Austin as fast as I could."
Hummingbird
No comments:
Post a Comment