Unformatted text preview: en him home. If he'd walked the thirteen blocks up to Amelia and St. Charles, that was a miracle. He'd been so drunk before Comus even passed that he'd sat right down on the neutral ground on St. Charles, knees up, hands on a naked bottle of Southern Comfort, drinking right in front of Uncle Ryan and Aunt Bea and whoever else cared to look at him, and telling Mona in no uncertain terms to leave him alone. Fine with Mona. Michael Curry had picked her up just like she weighed nothing and put her on his shoulders for the entire parade. How good it had felt to be riding that strong man, with one hand in his soft curly black hair. She'd loved the feeling of his face against her thighs, and she'd hugged him just a little, much as she dared, and let her left hand rest against his cheek. Some man, Michael Curry. And her father much too drunk to notice anything that she did. As for Mona's mother, she'd passed out Mardi Gras afternoon. If she ever woke up to see Comus pass St. Charles and Amelia, that was a miracle too. Ancient Evel...
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This note was uploaded on 02/20/2010 for the course WRITING 220.200 taught by Professor Julie during the Spring '10 term at Johns Hopkins.
- Spring '10