“Let me introduce myself before you play,” he said with finality, extending his hand. “Larry McMurtry.”
I’d somehow pictured McMurtry as a quiet, professorial, bookish man. Taken aback, I asked him about his own son, folksinger James McMurtry.
“Fuck that!” he screamed. “You’re the son of Bruce Jay Friedman!” He’d picked up some ratty dame at the bar who instantly swooned over Texas’ leading literary light, and tongue kissed her. Then they sat down before the stage....
Contemporary Lit at the Winedale, Dallas, TX.
"Larry McMurtry—At the Winedale?" by Josh Alan Friedman.
Click here to read it at Black Cracker Online.
