A Dog in a Tutu.
I lose subscribers whenever I write about Checkpoint Charlie’s. They are free subscribers so they think they are reading a wannabe Charles Bukowski clone on a downward spiral. Far from it. I have my own reasons for doing what I do. If I refuse to investigate the underbelly of New Orleans, who else will tell you about it?
I, alone, am left to tell the tale. Call me Ishmael.
Like a Mardi Gras Indian, I do what I do because this is what I do. I have my reasons. A professional flaneur never sleeps.
Life in New Orleans is a cabaret.
I do pay minimal attention to the subscriber statistics in my peripheral vision, but, the free subscribers come and go. The free subscribers do not know the whole story. They never get behind the paywall. Paid subscribers, they get the rest of the story, as Paul Harvey used to say. May he R.I.P.
The paid subscribers stay. The combination of paying and sticking around is the highest compliment of all. Thank you.
The never-ending, slowly evolving story and the New Orleans-specific information are so much more interesting behind the paywall.
I know the free subscribers are reading this. I am doing this for a reason. I am trawling for a few more paid subscribers. Try a month, you will like it.
New Orleanians live in a city pregnant with temptations. Nothing that happens at Checkpoint Charlie’s tempts me, except for the fact that is open. That bar is set pretty low. Even Café du Monde on Jackson Square is closed after midnight.
Speaking of which, we should duck behind the paywall here. I have something important to report.
Before I put up the paywall, I would like to tip my fedora to The Girl Can’t Help It.