Dare I say it? It's a sultry summer evening in New Orleans. I mean hot and humid. Just like all those bad pulp novels describe it. I've been sitting on the front porch with the cats (this IS Cattown, after all). Somewhere down the block, someone is playing a clarinet. Slow, easy blues.
Would this have happened in my old neighborhood in suburban Atlanta? I think not.
I love this town. Hurricane season and all.
1 comment:
Cattown - now there is a name for you. Your mysterious blues might indeed happen a few other places (my old stomping grounds of Baton Rouge for one), but no where else would it be imbued with the spirit of the very ground you sit on. That, among so many things, is a truly New Orleans experience. Soak it in - it will feed your soul.
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