Huck—Huck Elvis, I’s reck’n you jis tip the raf o’ve wit dat shak’n.
Hang it all, Jim.
Dey’s sumf’n wrong, dey is, ole Jim git drownded wid dat shak’n uv yo’—
Oh, well, Jim its just shak’n. Some people tap their feet, some people snap their fingers, and some people sway back and forth, I just sort of do ’em all together.
Jis the de same ole Huck Elvis, you whoop aroun’ dey turrible raf mos’ sholy they be no mo’ raf.
Don’t criticize what you don’t understand, Jim. I ain’t no saint, but you know…you never walked in that man’s shoes.
Well, dog my cats, Huck, we hain’t git no sho’s.

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John S. Fields recently discovered a passion for writing, and has had fiction published in Full of Crow, The Camel Saloon, Atticus Review, Conceit Magazine, and Enigma. John receives encouragement from his lovely wife, and enjoys playful interruptions from their two rowdy boys.