I guess you could say we’ve been “friends for a while.” You could also say we’ve “known each other.” Either way, I have seen him around for decades. He has never given me his real name. I’ve always known him just as Fast Eddie. Somehow or other, he finds me. I could be at a bar, a coffee shop, a small restaurant, you name it. When I least expect it, he’ll pull up a chair, a bar stool, whatever, and start talking. I usually don’t get in a word edgewise. There’s probably a “Fast Eddie” in your life. This one’s been in mine a very long time. This time, I am enjoying a roast beef po-boy, dressed, with a glass of water. I can’t drink soft drinks anymore. It’s the first thing Eddie notices as he pulls a chair from a nearby table without asking and plops down. “Joubert, you’ve given up on the sweets?” Eddie starts in his thick Ninth Ward accent. “Man, I’ve seen you put away some Mountain Dews and Dr. Peppers in my day. I didn’t think you’d ever stop with those.” “I had to, Eddie,” I replied. “Health reasons, you kn
