So you heard of a place called New Orleans. And you were welcomed. Free license to walk the streets, a thousand or so back pocket pamphlets. You helped yourself to the food, possibly undertipped. Complained while complimenting. Took the tours, some of you without any intention of learning. Spoke the word “plantation” with a wistful whisper. You were welcomed to music, taste of brass tones on almost every corner. Welcomed to wander into any bar, take the experience to go, plod in groups of ten or more without worries of an open carry citation.  Welcomed to drink by the river, watch the sun set on a second line. You were given history, culture, everything you’ve ever enjoyed, chances are, from this cracked windshield. You came with your secrets, were welcomed to predilections. You were welcomed to the strip clubs, burlesque shows, stand up, stages, gigs, all the gorgeous moonlight that wouldn’t play in Peoria, you were welcomed to impunity. You were welcomed to a place you wished you could be, the sights and sounds that made your eyes go wide, while you played cool, knowing that home awaited at the other end of this detour from the everyday. Let loose, minds lost in the wilds of Mardi Gras, you switched your place of worship for as long as the window would allow. You were welcomed, and considered it carte blanche to return from where you were safe and

blame the booze for your decisions, our food for the indiscernible tilt of your scales, our venues and bartenders when your bachelorette party went south, the strippers, live band, bawdy burlesque for your deficit, blame the escort for the dying days of your marriage, you came here to clutch, collect, you were a runaway, lost in your own cities across a brutal, swiftly sinking country, and it was you who needed,

still.

need.

us.

###

in print:

Amazon.com

or for fucking free in digital

Smashwords.com

so long and thanks for all the pish.