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.”
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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. […]