In 2013, I had a half-hour long conversation with a lovely pimp in Confederate Park. Flanked by cannons with a gigantic statue of Jefferson Davis in the background. Because it’s the South and everything is fucked up. The pimp was extremely nice and respectful, and I enjoyed talking with him. He didn\u2019t tell me he was a pimp right off the bat, it came out naturally in conversation. He was wearing a tan suit with a slight check in it, and a fashionable winter coat. He looked like a million bucks. The conversation started simply with a “Good morning, how are you” and we took it from there. Once I told him my name, he referred to me as “Miss Sheila” with an old-world elegant air.<\/p>\n
Here are some of the things the pimp said to me. Much of this was unprompted. <\/p>\n
\u201cThere is nothin\u2019 in this world, n-o-t-h-i-n-g, like a mohair suit, I am telling you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI am 64 years old and I enjoy every minute of my life. Of course, I\u2019ve been smokin\u2019 weed all day so I\u2019m feelin\u2019 very good.\u201d<\/p>\n
Pimp: \u201cYou\u2019re beautiful.\u201d
\nMe: \u201cBack off.\u201d
\nPimp: \u201cNo, no, I\u2019m off-duty, come on now. Just tellin\u2019 the truth.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWomen are beautiful in all sizes but there is no reason for a woman to be big as a water buffalo, if you\u2019ll excuse me, Miss Sheila.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMy mama died at 88. She had dementia, bless her soul. I was more sad when she was in the nursing home than when she died.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI would buy a new Cadillac every six months. Only Cadillacs, you know it!\u201d<\/p>\n
“A man can face any trouble in the world, any trouble at ALL, Miss Sheila, if he’s wearing a camel hair coat.”<\/p>\n
\u201cYou may not believe this from lookin\u2019 at me, but I am half-Irish. Yes, ma\u2019am, I am.\u201d<\/p>\n
Me: \u201cYou Southerners are not messing around. Y’all are a bunch of Jesus Freaks.\u201d
\nPimp: (roaring with laughter) \u201cTHAT IS THE TRUTH, MISS SHEILA.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI was a good pimp. I let my women keep their own jewelry if it was heirloom shit. I gave them milk baths.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSome good-for-nothin\u2019 burned my damn house down.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBeale Street changed the world, Miss Sheila.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019ll have to excuse me but I lost my lower bridge somewhere.”<\/p>\n
\u201cI been all over this world. But when you\u2019re hungry and cold, there is no place like a Southern town. They take you in and feed you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMiss Sheila, let me tell you, if you don\u2019t do what you love in this life, then life is not worth living.\u201d<\/p>\n
During my walks around the city<\/a>, I had been thinking a lot about the seedy glamour of Memphis, its faded grandeur, and empty streets filled with ghosts. I figured I’d go to the source.<\/p>\n I asked him, \u201cSo lemme ask you. What is Memphis really<\/i> like?\u201d<\/p>\n He thought for half a second and then replied, emphatically, \u201cMemphis is a no-good dirty town full of redneck crackers.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" In 2013, I had a half-hour long conversation with a lovely pimp in Confederate Park. Flanked by cannons with a gigantic statue of Jefferson Davis in the background. Because it’s the South and everything is fucked up. The pimp was … Continue reading