41/365 Blackalvin*
Money beneath the doily signaled Blackalvin (the bookie my great-aunt booked numbers for) was coming to collect. Besides his gangster grin, his only obvious bling was his cherry-red DeVille. “No! Around again!” I bossed, leaning out the passenger window waving to pedestrians like royalty.
*This is what my grandmother and great aunts always called him. I was probably eight or nine before I realized they were saying "black Alvin."
*This is what my grandmother and great aunts always called him. I was probably eight or nine before I realized they were saying "black Alvin."
posted by - Christine at 7:02 AM
3 Comments:
I so wanna be in that car.
Was this before you moved to VT? It sounds like where I grew up. :-)
Yeah, long before. We grew up in a blue-collar city that is now a white collar city a train ride north of New York city. Been in Vermont 18 years and still haven't found a decent bookie.
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