Miss Shevaughn & Yuma Wray

I'll do my best to relate this story as it was told to me. All anyone ever wanted was a partner in crime. Miss Shevaughn came to D.C. from the deep south, singing gospel and lieder with a drawl. Angelic voice, mouth like a sailor. Then she met Yuma hanging outside the Pharmacy. Exceedingly charming, raised in distant and exotic lands... and in league with St. Christopher. A decade later, and Miss Shevaughn had put a pin in her map in the heartland not knowing that Yuma had found himself ...

I'll do my best to relate this story as it was told to me. All anyone ever wanted was a partner in crime. Miss Shevaughn came to D.C. from the deep south, singing gospel and lieder with a drawl. Angelic voice, mouth like a sailor. Then she met Yuma hanging outside the Pharmacy. Exceedingly charming, raised in distant and exotic lands... and in league with St. Christopher. A decade later, and Miss Shevaughn had put a pin in her map in the heartland not knowing that Yuma had found himself in Chicago as well. Then one night she wandered upstairs to a club where Yuma was singing and playing guitar with the Streeters. And that's the end. A hand slips into a hand, and the rest becomes a song of disappointment and hope, an ache for distance, and home. On the near west side there is a house. And in the house there is an attic with a light on. It is blustery outside and cold, soon it will be snowing, but it's warm in there and there is music.