There are few things as inspiring as walking through the streets of the Garden District of New Orleans. Even more so, walking alone at night under the full moon. New Orleans is a complex place. It’s loud, it’s violent, it’s chaos, it’s romantic and it’s blasphemous all in one little dirty package sitting at the end of the American world. I purposely walk home from work on a lot of occasions. I need to.
I have to pass through neighborhoods, I need to see that if you work towards a goal, things can happen for you. You can sit in your room like a weirdo while everyone else goes out and does stuff, the hours spent on your computer are worth it. I might know the insides of a glass bottle better than most seasoned boozehounds but I know when the rejections of life pile up, I pour down. Too many books and too many bottles.... From the twisted sounds you'll hear piping out of dives to the booming trunks of the cars that pass by, it's apart of the fabric.
The night Jasmine is like sex, the streets dip and weave because the city’s money is tied up in other nefarious things. People pound away on piano keys from Uptown to the 9, every corner has a different story of love and murder. Summer rolls through, tips go down and crime goes up. Life in the dirty is a hard roll. Music, magic of indifference and art are what the heart beats for.
That’s how New Orleans does. But while some try to escape to different kinds of green, I never forget what keeps me here:
Life best lived is the odd sort of fantastic where you aren’t walking, You’re floating on your day dreams.