The past couple of days, I have been keeping company with one of Charlie’s angels. I have chosen to keep it a secret. She is the person who told me the story about Chattanooga Blue.
Today, I had an encounter with a different kind of angel. I went to the Seelos Shrine on Josephine Street, in the Lower Garden—a rough part of New Orleans. This angel told me a different story. There was a snake in the church this past Sunday.
I had lunch with Mrs. King at Lily’s Café today. Lily’s Café serves up the best Vietnamese food in New Orleans. Lily’s Café is an unassuming place where service occurs at a stuttering pace. I get the spicy beef with rice every time. Mrs. King gets the spicy tofu with thin white noodles more often than not. Both dishes are both delicious and nutritious.
Python Lady says hello. She and I just talked about how David Bowie used to be known as the Thin White Duke. Vincent is trying to think of a way to describe me. I have been waiting for three days for him to tell me. Though I am thin, nobody really knows this because I am always buried under layers of padding. I never wear white because it stains too easily. I am not a duke. I am Whalehead King.
What kind of a man would plant a snake in a church? Well, I can think of someone who is more serpent than man. I am not talking about Nick Lobo.
I am also not talking about Fr. Seelos.
This is how I heard the snake story. It happened at St. Mary’s Assumption Church on Josephine Street, which is also home to the Seelos Shrine. By Seelos Shrine, I am talking about the shrine that holds the relics of Bl. Francis Xavier Seelos. It is on the border between the Lower Garden and St. Thomas.
One of those Jazz Fest types is sitting next to me as I write this. He enjoys recreational psychedelics. He is very loud. He would be handsome if he shaved. As he is, he looks like a Jazz Fest hippie. He is no thin white duke.
In other news, I saw a lady whose arms were the size of hams. I am not talking about her forearms. They are another matter. I am talking about the part of her arm that contains her humerus, or, in this case, her hambone. She had tattoos on her arms but she had room for many, many more. Sweet Boy elbowed me in the ribs to compliment her tattoos but I declined. We are all God’s children.
Anyhow, on to the snake in the church. Where was I? Let us begin at the beginning behind the paywall, shall we?