Sunday, March 06, 2005

Follow Me Around...
the French Quarter

New Orleans is steamy hot. The sky begins to darken this summer evening. It's very humid. A shirtless black man pesters the aimless tourist. He has voodoo in his eyes. He babbles on about the myth of Sisyphus only he doesn't know the myth. He gives a desperate performance but no one gives him aid. He's ill and begs only for water.

I laugh at him.


It's hard to ignore the filth while breathing the flagrant air.

The night is alive with no memory of its past. The city lives for sex, crime, drugs, culture, music, voyeurism, spirits, fornication, wickeness, black magic. ahhhhahahahahahahahahahah!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The hazy sky is colored with jazz flavors and fried seafood. People are gathering on Bourbon Street. The district welcomes all. The classy and the riff raff. The selfish and those who know better. The cafes are cluttered with pretension. The dives are throwing down. A homeless woman sleeps comfortably in a deserted ditch. A child tap dances for a meal. A soap box preacher tells me to repent. I give him two dollars for his efforts.

The myriad neon lights are ubiquitous and intoxicating. Co-eds dance topless for charms. The brothels lure young sophisticated gentlemen for a night of unknown pleasures. A woman is rendered unconscious from violence...groping hands and feet and pelvic thrustings. A siren sounds.

The moon is pale, and ominous spirits swirl about the shadowy streets of the French Quarter. But a man is selling roses for love. I turn my head. And then my eyes meet hers.

damn, i'm out of beer.

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