Back in New Orleans after an absence of a few years. One of the greatest of American cities.
Where, on a visit with my parents, I walked down Bourbon Street and heard a barker at the door of a strip joint say, "C'mon in and see what's coming off on the inside." Made an impression on me. I was 12.
Where, on that same trip, an elderly pedophile tried to pick me up in front of a pinball parlor.
Where, on an epic grown-up evening that a colleague still says he can't remember in detail, I strolled into a blues bar just as the band was playing it's newly released single, "If That's All You Got to Say, Just Get Your Sorry Ass Home."
Where a half-hour ago I stopped by the hotel bar for a snack. Waitress: "You want a drink?" Me: "I gotta pace myself." Waitress: "What's that?"