I can't begin to remember who all came over to the place on Shrader Street that whole time. It really is a gigantic jumble. Willie Harp Wilson was another guy. Holy shit! Little Willie Harp Wilson! I forgot all about him. He played harmonica and drank whiskey. That was what he said when you met him, "I drink whiskey." It was both who he was and what he did. He was a whiskey drinker. He drank whiskey. I think he painted pictures, too, but everything else was incidental to drinking whiskey. Willie Harp Wilson almost cured Ginny of drinking. He took her out to drink whisky one night, brought her back in the morning, held her up by her shoulders to get her through the front door, propped her up in a corner, said she appeared to need a rest, and came back that afternoon to go out drinking again. She wasn't up to it. She'd met her match. He drank her under the table. My hat was off to him for that. That was also where we were living when Hank Harrison brought his daughter over and we all got to sit around and watch how her angelic little two year-old glow lit up the place on acid. Ginny kept letting out gasps of amazement. The kid didn't have a clue. Little Courtney.

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