Ed Smith's Stencil Works.
Forever on patrol, I am here early at Checkpoint Charlie’s. 10:00PM on a Thursday is when all the go-go girls get off their gigs on Bourbon Street. It is change of shift. These dancers are exhausted by the time they get to Checkpoint Charlie’s. It is a thirteen-block walk for some of them. They show up thirsty, too.
Shots for everybody!
An hour ago, Mrs, King said, “Why don’t you get on your Vespa and go to Checkpoint Charlie’s. Get it out of your system.”
If you believe that, I will sell you the lease to the Crescent City Connection.
Has there ever been a worse name for a bridge?
Look, I am as much a sucker as the next guy for chipee in a miniskirt and patent leather go-go boots. These dames are polished rough. They have seen it all and them some. They have seen more than I want to see. God bless them.
Life is a cabaret. Welcome to the New Orleans demimonde.
I want to tell you about my trip to Ed Smith’s Stencil Works, founded in 1871, with a digression about Walt Whitman and Lafcadio Hearn. This should be fun.