GUMBO
"So you say, but dat don make it so," the old codger groaned as he crouched to snag up the dollar bill. I didn't care what he said so long as he gave me what I wanted. "That dollar won't get you into Mother's, old man," I wheezed between gulps of ice cold frosty air. "A twenty says you can't make it again. Maybe you never did know how." Twenty dollars is a lot to some folks, and this curmudgeon counted his dough in how many nights outta this freezer it'd buy. "Mother's," I repeated, for effect. I could tell he was close; this bojangles had no jingle and my twenty'd get'm a warm glass and a soft pillow. "Shit! You an asshole, mister," he spat as tossed back the dollar at my feet. "Even if I had the recipe, I wouldn't give it to you," and he walked away, which surprised me.
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