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French Quarter

French Quarter

The city was familiar to him, comfortable, safe, like worn jeans and an old t-shirt on Saturday mornings. The French Quarter can be a bi-polar bitch but this morning she was calm and her allure was in full bloom. The early morning, mid-week French Quarter is nothing...
Moving

Moving

Moving to the city was one part rebellion, one part finding himself and one part forgetting himself. New Orleans was as far from midwestern suburbia he could go without an airline ticket or passport. While the city was familiar and welcoming, he often suffered doubt...
Ponte a Egola

Ponte a Egola

The old man wore loose pants and a shirt that looked to be half his age and twice his size. He sold flowers every morning outside the market. His cart loaded with bouquets and buckets full of blooms ready to be wrapped and carried off. Watching from my seat across via...
Little Havana

Little Havana

I knew it was him when he sat down. He was wearing his normal uniform. His daughter called it that. He wore it daily. Or rather a version of it daily. The suit pants were worn at the cuff where they touched the floor. His shoes were brown driving shoes. Rubber soled....