Love is a mountain of Jambalaya

There was a new sheriff in town.
If my life were a wild West movie, he would be the sheriff and I the outlaw. Guns would be blazing by every glance I'd take at him. I surely know, that yesterday when my right hand was forking Jambalaya, the other hand was going through his private parts under the dinner table. And we did it good. Nobody could have ever suspected anything.
So here I was getting ready to meet him at 'Madam Saxx' Jazz Club' and I was nervous, which is pretty unusual for a grown man my age. I slicked back my hair in the mirror and took one last look at the tall, dark and handsome negro that my mother always used to call me. I added a deep purple handkerchief to my tuxedo and then left my apartment to meet "the sheriff".
The atmosphere was alert, until the people at the club got a round of whiskey on the house. I was so lucky to have met Bobby Jones. He always had a way to distract the people in the club, and take the heat off my back. Some would say that Bobby held all the cards. Though he was only a humble bartender, and a slave to a well mixed cocktail, he seemed to have more control over the club than the new owner: Lady Soul. Who uses her stage name more than her real one because 'Linda' does not describe who she really is; a free-spirited woman in her mid 40´s.
After getting our local African Americans intoxicated, I sat at the bar, waiting for my 'sheriff' to come. I waited for a long minute or two, and he seemed to have recognized me. A hand went across my back, as he sat right next to me.
With the soothing live jazz music playing in the background, I had to ask him: "What is your real name sheriff?" He gave a big laugh and finished it off with a sharp move of his right arm shooting at me, we shook hands as he introduced himself: "Zeke West is the name, and hitting on guys is my 2nd game!" He waited for some kind of a response from me, even a facial expression. A slight movement of an eye. I had nothing, as he continued: "I do poetry as well", I couldn't keep it in anymore and I laughed at him.
As the pleasant evening turned in to night and the night morphed in to dimmed lights, we decided not to have an exchange of phone numbers, but to meet each other at the club every Thursday around the time, when the lighthouse would shine its' spotlight for the lost sailors at sea.

I guess what Bobby said about 'Madam Saxx' Jazz Club' was true: "This place has a special magic to it, it keeps you coming back"