For a week straight I popped ciproflaxin, metronidazole, and loperamide from a Pez dispenser. The forces within rebelled like William Munny on a bender, making me reexamine my place in the universe. Starting with, why did I eat the fried mullet?
I saw it on the menu and it brought me way back to the 20th century and a day at McSorley’s with my buddy ML and how rounds into it a man and his wife and their divorcee ladyfriend from Mobile wound into the conversation and by night’s end invited us to the mullet toss, until ML started making out with the divorcee who was really just separated and that was the end of it.
I said then if I ever did get to write for a magazine I’d find a way to the Florabama Lounge and Package, and wound up throwing a dead mullet over state lines. And after reading in a book called Mulletheads about cracker popsicles and smoked mullet I ate some and it was good.
Doesn’t mean history repeats itself or that the deep fryer kills off anything left unrefrigerated.