a southern heart.104 belongs just below a mint julep105 tucked into the pretty, gloved hand. strange fruit106 parting the evening into night. a swaying107 sound, skin here being saltier, the need for more iced beverages; the second veranda is for lovers. a code d.y.'s108 still don't get, but also remains largely unspoken among us. antebellum109 so romantic for some; and the fifties are only remembered as the good ol' days110 by white people.111

104to some still an actual medical condition

1054 cups bourbon
2 bunches fresh spearmint (beat it)
1 cup distilled water
1 cup granulated sugar
Powdered sugar
serves: 10 yankees / 5 southerners (confused look.)

106"Here is fruit for the crows to pluck,
For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck,
For the sun to rot, for the trees to drop,
Here is a strange and bitter crop."

107stuck in a bad billie holiday song, (as if there were such a thing.) who is this woman I never became, but simply always was; loving the french for their commas.

108d--- yankees.

109"All I know is, we was slaves, and then Dr. King came."
(at first you laugh, but then reality really hits.)

110the texas senate has run itself into the gulch without proper flasks. what of this party now? ay...

111my grandmother would be so proud of my sewing skills and penchant for throwing dinner parties. perhaps not the champagne. if temperance was the genesis of modern feminism..she was practically Gloria fucking Steinem.