Python Lady says she does not like it when Vincent and I huddle together, deep in discussion. “You huddle together and get intense expressions on your faces. You scrunch your eyebrows together and get those lines over the bridge of your noses.” Python Lady held her fingers up to indicate where she meant. Then, she scrunched her eyebrows together. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.
“When you two are frowning, I think that you are up to no good.” Python Lady said.
I explained to Python Lady that Vincent and I were not frowning. We were tracking the course of People’s Avenue, the shell road, the railroad, and the drainage canal lakeside of Gentilly Boulevard, between People’s Avenue and the train tracks, on a modern map. We were engaged in the best kind of man talk, trying to make sense of New Orleans, as people do.
If you can wrap your mind around New Orleans, you have solved a geographic riddle.
There was a lot of man talk today. It does not translate well to a general audience. Women accept that how men understand New Orleans is different from how women talk about it. Children do not belong on barstools. Angels understand.
There was also a lot of New Orleans talk today. Talk between New Orleanians in their native habitat, like conversations between gorillas in the mist, does not translate well to a general audience. No offense is intended. I do not mean to make you feel left out.
It will take too much time and translation to make sense of what Python Lady, Vincent, and I were talking about. If you do not live in New Orleans, nothing in New Orleans makes sense.
I took the No. 9 bus today from the stop at the corner Magazine Street and Napoleon Avenue, at the corner where Ms. Mae’s is, to my street. Ms. Mae’s is 24-hour bar. I miss Ms. Mae. She made me feel at home when I moved to New Orleans.
Ms. Mae, like many other old-time New Orleanians who made me feel at home when I moved here, is dead. Plus ca change plus c’est la meme chose.
A one-way trip on an RTA bus costs $1.25. I love to take to the bus. I see all sorts of people I know that I do not see in other settings. Happiness loves company.
The Honduran busboys at a popular Mid-City restaurant told me about a cock-fighting ring in Shell Beach. That is in St. Bernard Parish. I have long known of the cock-fighting culture in Plaquemines Parish but to learn about a ring in St. Bernard Parish is a surprise. Shell Beach is too far away for me to confirm if this is true. I will leave it up to someone else.
I am going to tell you about a plan I have, but, I have to put that behind the paywall.