Smoke & Honey. Chapter 608.
Smoke and Honey. Need I say more? I do.
My Vespa is on the fritz. It is in the shop. I am going to pick it up, fixed, tomorrow. Between it being in the shop and tomorrow, I have been walking everywhere. I typically walk four miles a day. The past few days, I have been walking seven. It is nothing really.
New Orleans is very flat and there is plenty to look at along the way. Everyone says hello.
I took the streetcar. It is about as quick as walking.
I am taking the bus Uptown tomorrow. That should be fun. It is the No. 9 bus.
The No. 9 bus is supposed to run every 15 minutes. Does it? Nein! Nein! Nein!
For two days in a row I have been to a new place for breakfast. It is called Smoke & Honey. You may have heard of it. It is where Piece of Meat used to be, on Bienville Street, right off the Greenway, next to Neow’s Palace.
Mrs. King and I visited Smoke & Honey yesterday. I pussyfooted my way up there this morning solo. I had to go to the post office. I had to mail a package to New Jersey.
The world could use more ampersands in it. I do my part. My notebooks are littered with ampersands.
Mrs. King and I had breakfast at Smoke & Honey yesterday. It is Greek and Jewish food. It is like going to Fatma’s Cozy Corner, only better. Smoke & Honey is in Mid-City on a major thoroughfare, such as Bienville Street is.
There are all sorts of odd dips and pavement undulations on that stretch of Bienville Street. There are no potholes, per se. That part of Bienville Street between North Broad Street and Jefferson Davis Parkway is a bumpy ride. Take it from somebody who usually drives a Vespa.
Ask Leather Tuscadero.
Alright, now, I am going to talk to paid subscribers about my breakfast today at Smoke & Honey. I went without Mrs. King today. She had a podiatrist appointment. I just made that up.