I just ordered fried crawfish tails. They normally come with a salad but I dislike the salads here. I am enough of a regular that I can order what I want. I do not abuse this power but the portions are too big here for me.
The reason the portions are so big here and the sauces so rich and, the reason there is so much fried food on the menu is because it attracts Guy Fieri’s fanbase. I only come because Python Lady likes it here. She seems to enjoy my company, too, so there is no accounting for her taste in men.
The only Beatles song that I like is on the radio. The Siouxsie and the Banshees version is better.
I used to know a woman named Prudence. She was the only one I ever met. She was a skittery bird of a woman. Everybody called her Prudie. She was delightful in delightful ways.
I think Prudence is my favorite name for a woman. In the unlikely event that Mrs. King and I conceive a daughter at our age (stranger things have happened; look at Elizabeth and Zachariah), I would like to name the girl Prudence. I am sure I will be outvoted. My ace up my sleeve is that my second choice is Ursula.
Sometimes, I like to take the bus to get where I am going.
New Englander that I am, I eat fried crawfish tails, like clam strips, with tartar sauce.
Though most of my traits and quirks of personality fit seamlessly into New Orleans culture, so much so that I am often mistaken for a native, sometimes my roots show and it shocks the people unfamiliar with my past. They think tartar sauce is for nothing better than fish sticks, something else from up North.
I sometimes eat them with ketchup, which most other people who live in New Orleans also find revolting.
Mayonnaise is for po’ boys, it is one of the four ingredients that makes a sandwich dressed. Ketchup is for french fries, which are the main ingredient of the original po’ boy sandwich.
These crawfish tails are really good today. I am sharing them with the Masseuse. I did not realize today is Wednesday until someone draped a scarf around the back of my neck, draping the ends over my front.
I know the scent of soft perfume from that scarf. It must be Wednesday. Wednesdays are usually nice days. I get to talk about things I would not normally talk about, things like massage therapy, music festivals, or Bucktown.
I dislike people touching me, I have zero interest in music, and I never leave the city. Is it any wonder that I love my life?
It is now time for the paywall.