Yesterday

Brainstorm, word game, internet cafe with expensive pricing…

Yield on the interstate, eventually, when Louisiana cars politely keep their distance until you can fuckin’ free up the passing lane already. Drenched down to the essence, linger not in the hotell room, escaping into the nighttime streets. Bouncers full of vigor to allow no-cover access to Toulouse St. bars with overpriced onion rings. Slapstick blooze wench transports you back into the northeast, with Tracy Chapman covers. Her little orchestra is so chill, you forget your road-rage.

Me, I will wake tomorrow to find opalescent sky and restrained registration desk clerk endearing himself to me with.

No decisions before chickory coffee, our noggins soaked in the torque of humidity. Intending to take in all aspects of N’awlins life, we entertain our ignoble, transparent minds by paying religious attention to caffeine intake and investigating the possibility of a nap. Deliberately avoiding enamelled, saccharine tourist-trap taverns, intense in our lack of nativity to this town, we anticipate the totality of this idiosyncratic, ominous negation of access to lucid archives of memory’s bias. Anarchy masters all, in New Orleans. Yet we yawn, writing this epic travelogue.