I cannot tell you how I feel.
Beyond losing everything I own, losing a rare picture of a grandfather who died before I was born, losing all my clothes, is the loss of a way of life in a city that was one of the best on earth.
New Orleans was so very far from being "perfect," but its informality and ease brought with it the troubles that one had to endure in order to discover its gifts. And its gifts were infinite:
The taste of a hot cup of Community Coffee's New Orleans Blend, flavoured with chickory--I could cross the street from my apartment in the morning and start my day with that. And a very pretty, smiling girl named Ty would hand it to me and that would set the tone for the rest of my day.
Donna's Lounge on a Sunday Night--Shannon Powell would play the drums and sing, musicians from around the city (and sometimes the world) would drop in. It was informal, communal, full of joy.
Anything from Liuzza's by the Track--The gumbo, the Garlic Oyster PoBoys and the incomparable BBQ Shrimp PoBoy just begin to tell the story. The cast of characters (a woman in a purple mumu wearing a mask and on top of her head a crown made of pot leaves would often drop by; S. Gary Wainwright, Attorney at Law would regale you with the story of how he ran for District Attorney on the platform of decriminalising drug posession; the leader of the Storyville Stompers brass band was there; Bird the one-man taxi company worked there; Roadrunner, the chef/carpenter worked there...) made every Saturday morning hangover session more bearable.
Jhelisa at Hookah Cafe--her voice is indescribable.
Cheap food from Country Flame when you're high--It was really the bucket of Coronitas we loved, but cramming a plate of nachos down your cramhole and watching Mexican novelas was the perfect complement.
Alligator sausage at Cooter Brown's--wash it down with some 11% Abita Andy Gator beer. Repeat as needed.
13 Monaghan--The proper launching pad for a night of debauchery. Start off with a frozen irish coffee, eat the good food, drink a few beers, then hike over to the Quarter where pretty blondes named Lindsay with an "A" will kiss you.
The "Barmuda Triangle" on Magazine at Sophie Wright--Half Moon, Moonlight, and Sharon's bar all within 200 feet of each other, each forming a point on a triangle. This is supplemented by $1 cans of PBR at Juan's Flying Burrito. Sharon's was like "Trees Lounge" + "Barfly" but maybe not as uplifting.
Sitting on the steps of the levee by the Mississippi, sipping a cold beverage, watching massive ships moving up and down the river--the first time this happened, I was in awe of the scale of what I was seeing.
Pizza at Sugar Park Tavern--the best mf'in pie on earth.
Watching Troy Andrews play every instrument in his band--Vaughn's on a Thursday night. Troy, the genius wonderchild that only NOLA could produce, I would just stand amazed as he conducted the band and communicated telepathically with his sax player.
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Two nights ago, as a refugee in a small sports bar in Tunica, MS, I sat down at the bar and thought, "There's nothing in here I'd want more than a Dixie Beer." A Dixie. Something small, something simple from my city. I miss my city. I love my city.
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