A coyote and an alligator walk into a bar.
Sounds like the setup to a joke.
But this is one punch-line you don’t want to stick around for.
Crowd at the Naked Porcupine is riled tonight. Friction echoes between the brick walls and whines down the bar’s copper-topped counter like current on a telephone wire. The place is wet with sweat and booze, sticky and squishy, like everything else in Malady, Louisiana.
Etienne settles onto a worn barstool at the far end of the bar where he can see who comes and goes, tosses back a pair of whiskeys, and nurses a third, waiting. Continue reading