Circus Tent of Doom.
The day began with a man in a wheelchair. Good things come in threes.
This man is only missing one leg. He lives on North Galvez Street. I was walking Mrs. King’s dog in the dark of morning when this guy came whizzing up the bike lane, silent as a shadow.
“How are you doing, my friend?” he said. He does not know my first name. We are friendly, but, we only meet when I am walking Mrs. King’s dog, who barks incessantly at both skateboarders and people confined to wheelchairs. The dog is dumb. He cannot tell the difference.
Someone who looks like one of the ladies from Birmingham is sitting outside. She is right on the other side of the glass, so close and yet so far. She is wearing a gaucho hat. The hat and her hairstyle remind me of that lady from Birmingham. *Sigh.*
The man missing one leg and I chatted briefly, sharing anodyne pleasantries. It was dark and the dog’s eyesight is going. The dog did not bark. The moon was a sliver of its full self.
Have you ever had a birthday?
Today, we are discussing a deadly circus tent, and, I had a conversation with an astronomer from UNO. Unlike SUNO, UNO is not pronounced uno.
Someone is having a party and it is going to come to an eye-popping conclusion. It is happening today on Grand Route Saint John.
Do you know what would be a nice Christmas present for someone in your life who has no interest in plot or narrative momentum? A paid subscription to Watching New Orleans Go By would be just the gift to fill that void in their life. They will thank you for it.