Among my favorite things about the south is the closeness of black and white people. While they may openly express predispositions, they at least hang out on the same streets. “This man is a pimp,” a man named Jamal smiles to me, “I wanna get my picture with this pimp!” I can’t believe he’s not making fun of me. We cross the street after the photo of him, his three friends, and their dates. “Hey, where you pimpin’ at tonight, brother?”
“Whoadudes, watch the p-word around all the cops alright?”
This passes for a punchline and we’ve got them and the rest of the block to giggle, laugh, and raise a beer glass.
I know I sound like that asshole who tells you all the funny things he said to the flight attendants on his trip to florida (“So I said, ‘hey, don’t forget the coffee!”) But after leaving the love of my life at the airport, not accomplishing anything for my book, and regaining a lost sense of pariah-dom among my generation, it’s great to earn shallow respect from total strangers whom I will never see again.