Po'Monkeys

In the middle of a cotton field, in an unpainted board sharecropper's shack with a tin roof, festooned with Christmas light, unairconditioned, unlicensed, and hot as hell. That's Po'Monkeys. He works as a sharecropper during the day and on Thursday nights, he opens his home to visitors. You pay a five dollar cover charge to a woman just inside the door. Through the kitchen door, you buy beer, soda, or water for 2$. The bringing of your own hard liquor is tolerated and practiced openly and with passion. When there isn't live music, there's a DJ. It's as crowded as possible, and with all the stuffed monkeys and tinsel hanging from the ceiling, as surely a fire hazard as I've every seen. You sweat more than you ever have in a hot yoga class. Strangers appear to be warmly welcomed.

There's a blues trail marker outside, and Larry, Po'Monkey's friend, has surrounded it with a chain link fence and razor wire to protect it.

So that's a jook joint. I'd heard my father describe them, but I had no idea.

Pictures to follow.