Charles Lambert, though much maligned at seven p.m., was the undisputed king of the after party. Early on, when he would show up at shindigs with the Party Time Express, everyone laughed and teased. “Where are the clowns?” they'd ask, or “When do we bob for apples, grandpa?” He got no respect until nine at the earliest.
But once the libations started flowing, once the party was good and hopping and everyone was sauced like pasta, they lined up beer in hand a whooping at the top of their lungs to ride his bright and colorful train. He'd drive them everywhere, around the yard, through the kitchen, or down to the corner store for a beer run. Once people loosened up and finally remembered they were there to forget they were adults for awhile, then the world was his oyster. His primary colored, drunk friend filled oyster.
- Originally mailed to A. Perkins of New Orleans, Louisiana
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