Actor, writer, filmmaker, creating fantastic stories.
“I just don’t. You’re a little too church boy. Too pretty. Perfect teeth. Smooth light brown skin. Dimples on your cheeks. This isn’t your lane.”
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“Or you were an actor or something. Something to do with the arts. You just have that artist look. That big wavy pompadour and the slick sideburns. Your skinny jeans with the flared bottoms and your boots. The cool retro Jimi Hendrix tee…. And your teeth are perfect too. Did you ever have braces?”
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Just across the levee, the calliope of the Steamboat Natchez is playing against the warning horn as it paddles away into the sunset.
A small group enjoying a horse and buggy ride down Decatur Street has steered their attention towards a merry bunch of tourists gathered around a troupe of teenage tap dancers and jazz musicians, playing for tips.
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I’d walked in, and after my eyes adjusted, I could see her and Sarah, a frail, late forties drug-addled blonde, sitting with and talking to a customer at a table on the main floor. Natalia noticed me. She smiled. I walked over and stood, searching my phone messages.
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