Face Of New Orleans

As I sit here at 6:34 AM on a Friday, I am not in Austin.  I am currently on Vets highway back when New Orleans used to actually get cold.  My fingers are cold because I’m running around grabbing beads and doubloons off the ground.  And everybody seems to be trying to figure out Who Shot The La La.  I can’t seem to figure it out myself, but I do know it was a .44.  This trip to my homeland is all due to the worlds most wonderful cocktail: the sazerac.  Sipping and inhaling this libation takes me from wherever I am and puts me back in old New O.  I can smell the old wood bars and the diesel tractors and hear the din of Canal Street.  I feel the people banging on the side of the float absolutely demanding the beads on the top rack behind me, ya know, da shiny ones.  I truly understand why New Orleaneans refuse to leave.  Because we don’t fit in right any other damn place.  Not to say I fit in anywhere, but at least people talk right back home.  Ah well, I’m back in Austin now, the spell has worn off…..for now.