A Hot Afternoon
She said her name was Annalise. We met at the Greyhound/Amtrak station on Canal Street. She was a true native of New Orleans. To be accurate, they were called coon asses. She was dropping quarters in a cigarette vending machine when she tapped me on the shoulder. “Hey, Mister, do you have change for a dollar?”I looked up from the newspaper that I had found on the bench. Her smile was hypnotic, her tee-shirt, damp from sweating in the ninety-eight degree weather. It was obvious that she wore no...
Straight Sex