Last Day of Jazz Fest. Chapter 656.
100,000 people are at Jazz Fest today, maybe more. Good for them. I am at Ralph’s-on-the-Park, where there are no Jazz Fest people, even though the Fairgrounds are less than a mile away.
Today is the last day of Jazz Fest.
Emily is working, which always makes me happy. We are watching Rocky III on the televisions, with the sound off. There are no closed captions. Emily and I are not deaf. we are talking with each other.
Some Jazz Fest people think Ralph’s-on-the-Park is too far away from Jazz Fest. It is less than a mil,e, but, it a world away.
Some Jazz Fest people think Ralph’s-on-the-Park is too snooty, that they will notto be welcome with their Hawaiian shirts, their straw hats, their flip-flops, their backpacks and their folded up folding chairs.
Nothing could be further from the truth, but the reason I am here is because Jazz Fest people think that. There should be few Jazz Fest people. Shugeie is festing. Frickin’ Sugee. He belongs in a barn.
I am also here because I enjoy Emily’s company. Happiness loves company.
What do you call that drink that is vodka and cranberry juice?
Said Emily: “I would call it vodka and cranberry.”
We are watching the part of Rocky III that compares and contrasts the evil, arrogant Russkie’s scientifically Soviet-engineered training regimen to Rocky’s working man’s training, running through snowdrifts, sawing wood, chopping down trees, climbing mountains and standing on top of the highest peak, standing like his statue in from of the Philadelphia Museum of Art.
Aside from the staff, there are no working class heroes at Ralph’s-on-the-Park today. There is me, your humble narrator. Though I am a man of the people, I have hands as uncalloused as those of a princess. The rest of the dining rooms are full of mid-tier Metairie socialites feeling loose as geese.
During the last day of Jazz Fest, everybody is a Jazz Fest person. Tomorrow will be another day.
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