“By the way, junior,” he asked casually, “ever had yourself a Cajun woman?” His question silenced the bar. “Don’t think I have.” “Got some advice for you then—if you find you ever need it.” It was the quietest bar I’d ever been in. I answered so softly no sound came out, and I had to repeat. “What advice?” “Take off your belt before you climb on so you can strap your Yankee ass down because you’ll get taken for a ride. Up the walls and around.” Now the whole bar was staring, I guess to surmise whether my Yankee ass was worth strapping down. One rusty geezer said, “Junior ain’t got no belt.”
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