sitting around the bars and at night walking on the streets for hours, the moonlight always seemed fake to me, maybe it was.
and the men and women....usually young and always white.
and I was always white and hardly charmed by the world.
new orleans was a place to hide. I could piss away my life, unmolested. except for the rats. the rats in my dark small room very much resented sharing it with me. they were large and fearless and stared at me with eyes that spoke an unblinking death.
that was plenty for me, that was enough..
there was something about that city, though it didnt let me feel guilty that I had no feeling for the things so many others needed. it let me alone.
sitting up on my bed, the lights out, hearing the outside sounds, lifting my cheap bottle of wine as I heard the rats moving around the room. I preferred them to humans...
being lost, being crazy maybe is not so bad if you can be that way undisturbed.
new orleans gave me that. nobody ever called my name.
no telephone, no car, no job, no anything.
me and the rats, and my youth, one time, that time I knew even through the nothingness, it was a celebration of something not to do but only know.
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