Running With the Ducks.

The nice thing about Jazz Fest is that it brings the Goodyear Blimp to town. I pine for the golden age of airships.

I am deep in the heart of Jazz Fest. I am next to Jockey’s Pub as I write this. It is 8:35AM. Things are in full swing.

Time passed, and I felt an urge to get away from the Fairgrounds. Color me scrooge. When an older man’s fancy turns to things to do, he is inevitably drawn to Gert Town. There is a lot of history in Gert Town. There is a lot of charm.

There is also a canal. I can never remember if it is called the Washington-Palmetto Canal or the Palmetto-Washington Canal. Everyone will know which canal you are talking about. It is the drainage canal that runs along Palmetto Street and Washington Avenue. It is not a tourist attraction.

You are not supposed to go down there, but, well, sorry, Officer. I dropped something valuable. I parked the Vespa up top.

There were ducks.

I know that this essay is teetering just on this side of being interesting. Hang on. I would rather be writing about something else, but we’re deep in the heart of Jazz Fest.

I’m home now, sitting in the back garden, listening to the people out front walking to the festival. I usually sit on the front porch. Not today. This philosopher-for-hire prefers his solitude today.

While I was in Gert Town I discovered the street of my dreams. It is densely packed, parallel to Olive Street, a warren of crooked houses on a pitted shell road. I have been spending a lot of time on Olive Street. Tongues may wag.

People ask me why I spend so much time in Gert Town. The answer is simple.

You know how I always say that you meet the nicest on a Vespa. That goes double when you’re in Gert Town. I didn’t meet him in the canal. He’s a homeowner.

Now, I am going to write about that street I discovered. That is going to take me awhile and it is not going to be in the first person. Business before pleasure.

Happy Jazz Fest!