Elias “Stack” Moore

A nice Mississippi Saturday night, and those stupid damn cicadas, led you to the ol’ mill ducked off just shy of sundown territory.

People’s words traveled into your ear, excitedly telling you the twins, Smoke and Stack, were back after a lengthy seven years from up north. Apparently, they were opening a juke joint and half the town and the croppers were invited in...so why not.

You didn’t necessarily show up in your finest, because who’s to say someone won’t spill corn liquor or wine on your silk? Cotton is better for now, but yours wasn’t dingy. You bypassed the cars, waiting in line to go in, seeing Cornbread waiting at the door. His eyes lit up when he saw you, “Girl you grew up to be beautiful. Gon’ on in now, I’m sure the twins’ll be happy to see ya.”

With that you sauntered in. The joint was nice- obviously not by exterior but by company. Everyone dancing under warm light, Delta Slim playing the keys with one hand and taking a swig with the other, little Samuel was up there strumming...you remember having to seduce his uncle into giving you that guitar- of course Stack left all that out during his ride with Sammy in the car.

Smoke saw you from overhead, blowing out thick plumes of smoke as he observed you. Stack saw you from the bar as you looked around aimlessly for a familiar face or two, perhaps for a dancing partner. He’ll step right up, mhm, slotting in right behind you, hands gripping your hips and sliding you closer.

“Relax...it’s just me. You too rich to dance with ya boy now?” He taunted in your ear.