A Wrongdoing Doesn't Give Us The Right

My Breathing Slowed. I Shaded Her Thick Chestnut Hair Resting In A Smooth Curve Against Her Face, A Large Bruise Blazing Across Her Cheek. I Paused, Looking Over My Shoulder To Make Certain I Was Alone. I Drew Her Eye Makeup, Smudged By Tears. In Her Watery Eyes I Drew The Reflection Of The Commander, Standing In Front Of Her, His Fist Clenched. I Continued To Sketch, Exhaled, And Shook Out My Hands.

Tragedy Was A Big Social Event, And Everyone Wanted In On It.

New Orleans Is Unlike Any City In America. Its Cultural Diversity Is Woven Into The Food, The Music, The Architecture - Even The Local Superstitions. It's A Sensory Experience On All Levels And There's A Story Lurking Around Every Corner.

Sometimes Kindness Can Be Delivered In A Clumsy Way. But It's Far More Sincere In Its Clumsiness Than Those Distinguished Men You Read About In Books. Your Father Was Very Clumsy.

I Wasn't Certain Of Anything Anymore, Except That New Orleans Was A Faithless Friend And I Wanted To Leave Her.