What can YOU say in six sentences?
Back before my Mississippi days, when Derby leather and linen suits were the only cologne I needed or wore, and my hair stood up all by itself, I’d cruise the gutters of Lexington's North Side looking for a filly to take for a ride.
“Spare a moment of your time, darling,” I’d say to the strutting girl from out of the window of my Cadillac, wide as a theater screen, air conditioning just as neat as a space ship.
And that I was young and farm-built and reeked of white-tie money, that was enough to slow her, but something else made her stop, no matter who they were or where they were headed.
“What d’you want, player?” She’d ask, every time a different level of hard or sly, but with the same soft and genuine center.
“I want you to hop in for a minute,” I’d say, hitting the locks, “So’s I can give you a taste of what it’s like outside this place.”
And yeah, I was young, and so was the filly every time, but every time it worked, because no matter who you are or how much gutter there is to the sidewalks you’re on, everybody has an appetite for that.