Our favorite haunt was Ten’s Spot, the top blind pig in Detroit for a time. The place was a hoot and was run by Tennessee Jenkins. Ten had smooth skin the color of coffee with cream and little lacquered sideburns that curled on her cheeks like question marks. She had style and guts. And she wore great hats. Some of my cohorts were leery of her at first—they weren’t used to a woman running anything in those days, and especially a dark woman. But I never had a problem with her or her kind—the way I see it they’re the only people who’ve got it even tougher than my people. What I liked best about Ten was that she took care of her business and stayed out of ours. Of course, I never did get what she saw in that Motormouth, Jerry Barkley. He brought her trinkets and baubles, but he also brought her a hell of a lot of trouble she didn’t deserve.
When I hear this tune, it brings to mind good times at Ten’s Spot, with horns blowing, booze flowing, and Ten bopping from table to table to make sure everyone was wet and happy.
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