Here is the first part of the story of Hurricane Frank, which grows and shrinks and becomes more and less done the more I pick at it.
Want to read more? There's plenty. Let me know.
Everything on these pages is drummey born and raised.
Johnny Ace
Johnny Ace is one of the few people who hopes the storm strikes his place of residence. He hopes that Hurricane Frank will gently blow one wall from his jail cell in the Stewball Correctional Facility in southwest Georgia . Then Johnny could just walk away, while Lucky and that devil of a guard, pinned under some beams and girders and cinder blocks, writhe. Their legs would stick out one way, and their arms would stick out another. They would ask for his help, but instead Johnny would just walk away into a sun-dappled whorehouse.
But the hurricane never strikes anywhere near the jail in Georgia , it just rains and rains solidly for two days and two nights. Johnny is tired of being in jail. Though he hadn't been inside that long, he feels the weight of each day in prison. On the outside, Johnny and his fellow ruffians filled their days with enticing mischief. Now, all he does is wait, and while he waits, he puzzles about things he had never had the time to think of before, like "What am I doing with my life?" "How can I get what I want with minimum effort?" "What will Mr. Montague have me do once I get our of the joint?" and "Is it 'all I do is wait?' or 'alls I do is wait?'" He waits for word from Mr. Montague. He waits in the mess hall to ask certain guys if they want their creamed corn. He waits for Sunday, when his wife Cammy comes to visit. He imagines lewd things that often transform themselves into boring things, for Johnny finds that being in jail destroys his libido and his imagination.
One way Johnny passes the time is to participate in prison commerce. He gambles with the other prisoners for matchsticks, which stand for candy bars, which stand for one eighth of a cigarette each. Johnny Ace didn't smoke, but he could trade a cigarette for eight candy bars, which could in turn be traded for five minutes in the ring with "Mitchy" Mitchum, a welterweight with a rusty uppercut. But if you can go one round with Mitchy, you get a whole box of matchsticks, usually 100, if the guards aren't skimming off the top.