“The food changes as you move down the coast. First you’ve got Savannah, which is creamy and decadent. Then you move west to Mobile. Still creamy, but now you’re adding in cajun spice. Shoot over to New Orleans. The cream’s mostly gone, and the spice takes over.” 

The road hadn’t led me to that point in time, to hear the white-haired man in shorts and flip flops contextualize cuisine and culture. No, Mobile had sucked me in, more tractor beam than Pinocchio’s whale at sea. Who – or what – was controlling that beam? I’d stopped letting those questions infiltrate my brain. 

“Good vibrations down here, my friend. Excitations. Try using that word in a haiku! By the time you’re done all you’re left with is a wing and a prayer.”

His lessons came between gnawing chicken wings and then sucking his fingers. He sat roadside on the blue picnic table outside Peacocks Bar and Grill. The table offered no shade of umbrella. There were three spots of bird poop cooked gray into the table wood. 

“Take a deep breath. Go ahead, we’re in no rush. Close your eyes if it helps. Used to for my son. Suck it in.”

I was anything if not a willing participant. I closed my eyes. The black was backlit by sun rays. A car horn honked. Air entered my nose. And exited. The man – his name was David – chewed. I focused internally on my body, on my chest, on how it opened. Was it a void? Or accepting? Had the storm cloud dissipated, at least for a moment in time with this kind fellow? 

“Open ‘em up.” 

He’d eaten two wings in the time it’d taken me to realize I didn’t need to jump off my hotel balcony later. A sign on the window of the restaurant said “Free Air”.

“What did you smell?” he asked, fingers red with sauce. 

“Brine,” I said. 

His mouth opened into a proud grin. One arm gestured down Dauphin Street in the direction of the gulf. 

“Gentlemen,” our waitress said, setting a can of PBR in front of him. Melted ice floated in the lip of the can. She was late twenties with her septum pierced and her eyes circled in purple. Her shirt showed Iron Man flying with the red Iron Man logo lettered in the Iron Maiden font.  “I say this as a warning, but it’s really a joke because that’s what I do. Our margarita bar is best in town. I can’t be the only one drinking tequila today. We get five shots a shift.”

“You aren’t,” I joked, nodding to the picnic tables to either side, each with patrons sipping from glasses ringed with tajin or sugar. “How many have you had?”

“Four, but I’ve been here since 10.”

It was noon. The sun baking my forehead made sure to remind me. 

I thought of the thrift shop called Sunny’s, of the remaining seven wings in front of David, of how fast he could scarf them down so I could be on my way. And then I thought that maybe these two strangers were meant to cross my path. Why rush things? 

Her hips turned to leave, then swiveled to face us. “Although, they’re going to ask me to stay. Carly hasn’t called out yet, but she will. Bitch. She’ll say she’s sick, or helping her grandma, or excuse number who cares. Silver lining is that means I get five more shots.”

I had thoughts and comments that I kept to myself, not that her stream of consciousness would let me share. A group of howling women dressed in dresses and carnival masks approached. The one in the middle wore a white sash reading Bride to Be in bright pink. They stopped at the club next door. The one in front pulled a wad of cash out of her handbook. She counted the members of her group, pulled bills out, and handed them to the black-shirted security guard holding a hand stamper. 

The sign above the door read “Sonny’s”. I laughed. How many folks had visited in search of thrift store finds and found instead Mike’s Magic rear end? 

“I should’ve died, ya know,” the waitress said. 

I ate a french fry and drank ice water out of a plastic iced tea glass.

“The first bowl I ever smoked my brother laced with heroin. My heart stopped. Had to get shocked back from kingdom come or wherever it is they say you go. Guess what? I didn’t go there. Just a bunch of darkness. No different than the closet I used to hide in when my Mom came home drunk from the bar with another ‘friend’.” 

“I’m glad you’re still here,” David said. 

“I shouldn’t be, but I am,” she said, hovering, and then, “I’ll be back after another shot. Let me know if you need anything else. Enjoy.” 

David sensed what I sensed and said, “Sunny’s place is down Dauphin that way, three blocks, left at the mural, next to the oyster bar. Or did they move? Eh. Anyway, you can’t miss it.”

He dipped a napkin in his glass of water and wiped the fingers on his right hand clean. He offered it to me. I shook it, nodded and smiled. “David, it’s been a pleasure. Enjoy the rest of your wings.”

“Good luck,” he said, his teeth already sunk into the next chicken wing. 

I made my way down the streets of Mobile, music playing from open bars, missing the sound of her voice.