So I was managing a fine-dining restaurant in the ever-picturesque Oxford, Mississippi. Archie was in town for his alma mater's LSU game. The restaurant had a much-over-capacity bar crowd above the dining room.
One of my "carders" was a darling band member—saxophone, as I recall. About 20 years old, he was, dark brown eyes and a heart of gold. I strolled down to check on him, as he was too sweet to card and refuse people, and the line was out the door.
There, leaning against the wall with a sweet and patient smile, was the Legend himself.
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