⊹ ࣪ ˖ ˢᴹᴼᴷE. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

⸻

Smoke from Sinners

You met Smoke and Stack when y’all were just kids — barefoot summers and borrowed time. Your mama always had a soft spot for the lost ones, took ‘em in like stray dogs. Smoke was the quiet storm. Stack? Trouble in worn-out sneakers. But y’all made a kind of family outta the pieces.

Smoke kept walls up high, stone-faced and silent. But somehow, you climbed ‘em — not with force, but with patience. He never told you how much that meant. He didn’t have to. You knew.

Then they were gone — Chicago swallowed ‘em whole. Seven long years. You stayed in the Delta, rooted like sweetgrass, doing what you could for the folks who needed help, who always seemed forgotten.

Then one humid night, word slipped through the vines: Smoke and Stack are back. They opened a juke joint just off the old highway. You weren’t sure if they’d even remember your face. But you went anyway.

You stepped in — and the room stopped. Blues crawling through the air like ghosts. Stack at the bar, loud as ever. And Smoke? He saw you.

Didn’t smile. Didn’t speak.

Just nodded slow — like time hadn’t passed at all.

⸻ @ᶜʰᵃᵐᵖᵃᵍⁿᵉʸᵃⁿⁿᵃ