Tonight we went to Tyler’s again. Oysters have gone up to 25 cents because of Ivan.
The jukebox was playing Run-DMC and assorted hip-hop and R&B jams; Purple Rain was on the video; everybody was feeling good and having fun. Then a Billy Joel song came on. “Big Shot.”
I looked around the bar. There were maybe twenty people there. Xy and I were the only caucasians in the joint besides the bartender.
So I asked Xy: “Who the hell put that on?”
Xy thought people were staring at us.
“Don’t sing along,” she cautioned me, “or they’ll think it was us.”
Most clever.this entry is one of the fucking funniest things i’ve read in a long time.of course, i Have been drinking something called “Car-Bombs” for nigh on six hours. maybe i should be sleeping instead of drunkenly writing you.
polly
The dangers of the car bomb were made manifest to me back in April of last year.
[…] That’s Xy having a meal of raw oysters at Tyler’s on Orleans. I’ve heard some neighbors considered that place a nuisance, but we always had a good time there. We’re sad they’re haven’t re-opened since the flood. Come to think of it, I don’t know of any oyster joints in Mid-City now. […]