Men's Second Style

And he had thought his life was crazy before he moved to Bon Temps.

Things had been hard in New Orleans since his grandpa died.  He had never been one to run from trouble or hardship, but the music gigs had pretty much dried up, he lost his day job (oh well–it was boring, anyway), and then one day an old Creole woman stopped him on the street, looked him deep in the eye and told him it was time for a change.  Maybe, he thought, it really was.

So he packed up his clothes and his trombone, gave his grandma his love and “goodbye for now,” and piled into his clunker (no cash for this one, though).  He headed west along the I-10, out across the Atchafalaya, and then drove on and on and on, into Acadiana.  He found KBON on the radio and liked what he heard—that Todd Ortego sounded like a force of nature.  Somewhere along the way, he pulled off at likely-looking gas station for some hot, fresh boudin, and rather than getting back on the highway he took off down the best-paved road in sight, just to see where he’d end up.

Pavement gave way to dirt, and eventually back to pavement again, though with more cracks now.  He really didn’t have any particular goal in mind, other than time for a change, but the “Welcome to Bon Temps” sign seemed friendly, even welcoming, and it reminded him a little of New Orleans.  Maybe it was not only time for a change, but a good time for a change.  Hopefully he could find a place to stay, get a decent job, and maybe even have a little money left over to send back to his grandma.

But things in Bon Temps were…really weird.  Oh, not at first.  At first it was a nice enough place.  He found a sweet little cabin for rent, down by the water—that was certainly different from living in the Ninth Ward, so there was one change just for starters.  And he got a job (part time, but steady) washing dishes and cleaning up at Merlotte’s, the local bar and grill.  It was a decent enough joint, kinda rowdy, and the owner, Sam, was a good guy.  Sam didn’t make him pay for his work shirts up front, told him not to worry about it, he could cover them later from his tips.  But dishwashers don’t make tips, do they? he wondered.  Sam just smiled and told him to get to work.  Some of the waitresses (he didn’t have all their names down yet) were a little strange, and that Lafayette was just a bitch.  Sorry, grandma, but no other word would do.  There it is, and there it was, and there it shall ever be.

Life was pretty good.  He liked living near the water—he was sleeping better than he had in a long time.  He liked his little cabin, and he loved the privacy it gave him.  He was able to line up day jobs pretty regular—road work, clearing brush, stuff like that—and he ended up bringing home more than enough to send a nice chunk of change to his grandma every couple of weeks.  The town was pretty and seemed quiet, which he thought was just what he needed.

Then he started to hear rumors about weird stuff going on.  Crazy stuff.  Apparently one of the waitresses at Merlotte’s had disappeared before he came to town, and there was talk that although she was most definitely gone, she hadn’t actually left town, if you know what I mean.  Lafayette apparently had some kind of side business selling recreational pharmaceuticals—rumor mill said it was V.  Now, he made no moral judgments, but that would get you in trouble like nothing else.  Although he hadn’t gone with them, he had friends back home who had dared each other into visiting a vampire bar in New Orleans, just to see what they could see.  And not Fangtasia on Bourbon, which his friends had contemptuously dismissed as touristy and probably fake, or even the Black Casket in the Marigny, which might have been relatively safe…maybe.  No, they had to make it the Cross and Stake, a truly oddly named (he thought) pub in a strip mall somewhere in Mid-City.  They had been strangely silent about their brave adventure, but apparently that was one seriously tough crowd.  He wouldn’t want to cross them, no pun intended.

So, obviously there were vampires in Bon Temps.  Well, where weren’t there vampires, these days?  Live and let live, he had learned that from his mama.  Even if living wasn’t exactly what they were doing, it seemed to him the advice still applied.  And was that cute blonde waitress dating one?  It seemed like she was.  Lord, but people were strange.  Really, though, it wasn’t the vampires that bothered him so much as the other weirdness.

And now this Maryann woman had turned up—from where, exactly?—and was clearly causing (or at least at the root of) all kinds of ruckus.  He had been around the block a few times himself, and he knew bad news when he saw it.  Maybe this was all just a little too much change for his own good.  It might be time for another change, time for him to get out while the getting could still be got.

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Trevor Turner’s Merlotte’s Uniform shirts come in five colors: Black, Blue, Green, Grey and Red.  It’s provided on multiple garment layers, so you can wear it tucked or untucked.  Sculpted collar (optional–there’s collar artwork on the garment layers, too) and cuffs blend smoothly with the fabric texture, which looks realistically sturdy.  The rolled cuffs were a bit challenging for me to fit, but that may have been due to the fact that I wanted them rolled a bit higher up the arm than they are “out of the box,” so I shortened the garment-layer sleeves a bit and pushed the cuff attachments up a little higher on the biceps.  Patches front and back clearly identify the fine establishment where you work, or alternatively the dump you stole the shirt from.  L$190 each, or L$400 for the pack of all five colors.

Get yours at Young Urban (Bricolage 212, 48, 21).