The beat of some drum and now the squeal of a horn get stuck in the air, squiggle there. Alley cats stray in the night, eyes glowin and tails curled. Gus Goins's chickens squat in them coops, quiver when them alley cats come by. That music is still jumpin. Olinda Harris's hips sway and roll.
Folks sittin back in the corner just watchin the night go by.
They might take a little sip out their paper cup, give somebody close to them a little talk, then they get to starin at Olinda Harris or just starin at the nighttime goin by. Olinda Harris or talkin to nobody. Folks know he keeps to himself, got that kind of stillness about him. He ain't got to say nothin for them to know he's there. Back in that back room, Al Johnson has some sweat comin down in his eyes and is up in somebody's face.