-Stork cub Dirty martinis and curbside avalon tales Last summer, downtown Galveston, i’d run with my most trusted lawyer friend. trust and attorney in the same sentence is usually quite a stretch, most times you can’t trust them as far as you can throw then, but Johnny B was tight and all cool like that. the stork club was the place to be, not for everyone but it seemed ground zero in that hot, tropical night We sat beneath the jazz neon smoke of the music filtered out out by the palm trees guarding the front door. Johnny B ordered a few “dirty” martinis and I took a sip and said “now I know why they call them dirty martinis, olives are kosher and all but too much olive juice in a snazzy drink tastes like someone squeezed out the juice of a slum house mattress. The bar maid noticed my disdain and instead poured me shot of clean patron tequila. “what’s up old man” Johnny asked me, and i asked for a few cocktail napkins and a pen from the bar maid so i could write things down, and I did. We raged the rails of summer, downtown historic gaslight Galveston streets. We talked in the neon alto saxaphone light ambiance and spoke about books and writing and we met a few locals and tourists, i wrote it all down on white paper cocktail napkins in rough form.the stories, the adventures. the night went on and on and by the time I had made it home and all the cocktail napkin dialogs were tossed in the bin, damn well before I wrote them into evidence. Just like knowledge from the elders to the younger generation, some things are best kept word of mouth and kept out of the court of the masses. Hope springs the fly on the wall has a short memory, at any rate it is all campfire tales and stork club lore. I have it all in my head, all that is written is stored with stories I tell. Dirty martinis and curbside tables; these stories i tell, the neon signs back me up and the shadows and busboys are well paid, we all made it home to each and our own homes. A lawyer,a poet,a young barmaid, a busboy and a few cruise ship tourists, we were all savage in laughter and words under the neon sign palm tree, hot, humid summer night. -rkl
Posted on: Tue, 26 Nov 2013 04:12:12 +0000
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