“Greetings from Lousy-ana!” in letters so large they took up most of the space with the rest crammed into a single increasingly smaller line. “Jaymo, what’s the haps? Where are you at, bro…”
Opiates were suspect.
My eyes drifted to the address, a lady’s hand, and then to what appeared to be a decorative border in the same ink; on closer inspection, an unpunctuated message, carefully scribed along the edges and around Beau’s missive, a private post-script added before mailing.
“JAYMO YOU’RE A REALLY FINE MAN PLEASE BE MY FRIEND I’D TAKE REALLY GOOD CARE OF YOU—“ the same line I had used on her, Tooker’s favorite come-on, followed by: “I DO GRITS THE WAY YOU LIKE ‘EM COME BACK LOUISA”
A lady who could turn cartwheels and bend over backwards to touch the earth, her long honey-colored hair cascading to the ground, then contorting the other way, put her feet behind her head; the implications of her invitation were stellar. I could feel my hands around her slender waist, remembered the scent of her hair and how it surrounded our faces like a curtain when she rolled on top, covering my lips with hers. I stared at her image for a long time; Tooker had drawn her tits with medical accuracy. Her body was an erotic temple, her mind free and ready for fun in the warm southern sunshine."
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