Black Men With Big Feet

I feel like the best experiences usually are the ones that, in the morning, you ask yourself why or how you ever got yourself into the situation in the first place.  This morning was one of those mornings for me.  At 7:30am, I got woken up by Dani to ask me if I could drive to get her car which was still parked downtown in an illegal spot.  On the way there, while praying that she hadn't been towed or booted, we went through our night and tried calling back the details that were lost to the deep shades of grey (that inevitable fuzzy stage right before you blackout...yeah, you know what I'm talking about).  

While recounting the night's most ridiculous moments, Dani reminded me of my encounter with the local homeless rogue chiropractor/celebrity, Byron.  When we first saw him, he was “working” on a "patient" who was literally moaning “that was amazing” as he was finishing her “adjustment.”  A combination of seeing her reaction, loving getting my back cracked and being a few adult beverages deep; I decided I wanted to be “adjusted” too.  After agreeing on a bummed cigarette as form of payment, he shook my arms out and started positioning them across my chest while asking me if I wanted to see Heaven, I had no idea how to respond.  Probably a red flag I should have responded to, but definitely ignored.  The second red flag came right after when he spun me around, wrapped his arms around me and asked “have you ever been accosted by a black man with big feet?”  My brain was scrambling for something to say, but before I could shoot off some sassy comment in response, he lifted me up, snapped his body back and my spine went limper than a cooked piece of spaghetti.  It felt amazing and naturally my response was to scream "OH MY GOD!"  Byron, clearly proud of his work, started shouting "YEAH GIRL! CALL ME!"  He put me down, and as I am laughing hysterically, Dani is telling me to relax.  Apparently, she had gone through this process a few nights previous.  Next, he grabbed my face and said “Ciara, have you ever kissed a black man?”  As soon as he had asked the question, he turned my head like he was going to rip it off, and my neck snapped, crackled, and popped like rice krispy treats with fresh milk just poured into the bowl.  It was awesome.  He finished up my “adjustment” with a few other techniques, and I handed over the promised cigarette.  Walking away, he was still cracking jokes and I was still at a loss for words, but I somehow felt like I was a whole new person.  Moral of the story is that if you’re in Charleston and a black man with big feet asks if you want your back adjusted...go against your better judgement and just say yes, because its fucking phenomenal.