Victoria's Secret.
Today has been a kaleidoscope. I have things to think about.
I am thinking about the Victoria’s Secret coupons that somebody gave me. I must look like the kind of man who would have use for a Victoria’s Secret coupon. I am going to give these to Python Lady. I will bet you fifty cents that she wears frilly panties and I am sure she will thank me for the opportunity for a free pair with any purchase. People in the retail trade call this BOGO.
As a card-carrying graduate of the Charles Atlas School of Dynamic Tenions, I have never been inside a Victoria’s Secret store. What would fit me?
I saw Victoria’s Secret catalogs in the 1980s, but that is really all I know about the brand. I have little use for ladies’ undergarments. That is the distaff sex’s department.
I assume there is a Victoria’s Secret outlet at the mall. If there is, it has been invisible to me, as many things that do not interest me are. I cannot remember the last time I visited the suburbs, let alone the Lakeside Mall.
I spent some time in Desire this morning on official business. I was deep, deep in Desire. I doubt Vincent ever goes to the part of Desire I was in. Why would he? Why would I? The only people in Desire are people who do things there.
I am a man of leisure.
I was out on patrol, in one of the many nodes in New Orleans where train tracks, shipping containers, trucks, and canals overlap and intersect in a pattern both strange and complex. These nodes, more than anything else, are what connects. New Orleans to the rest of the world. The Isle of Orleans is a working port. There is more to New Orleans than the French Quarter.
The fact that New Orleans is a real working city, providing value to these fifty, nifty United States, is just as much reason the city was rebuilt after Hurricane Katrina as the fact that New Orleans is an authentically adult Disneyworld.
Catch the excitement, if you can.
Today has been more interesting than watching television. I do have the meaning of life to ponder, after all. What I am thinking about now is how much I hate this radio station. I would lodge a complaint with management but I do not have any pull here. Here, I am not Mr. King, I am Mr. Nobody.
I do enjoy being anonymous. It makes me very happy to be left alone. I live a life full of interruptions that get in the way of me pondering the meaning of life.
I was supposed to record the first episode of my podcast with this Kendrick Forbes character. A distraction led to an interruption, which delayed an obligation. The dominoes of events came tumbling down. There was no managing events. I had to run so late that I got stuck talking to Ed and Mrs. Ed on their front porch. I recommend not sitting on the rail—it is not securely fastened.
Everything worth happening happens in New Orleans time, by which I mean everything in New Orleans happens in the fullness of time. I choose to not explain further than making that observation.
I am not undercover today, nor am I in disguise. I am at Pizza Domenica on Magazine Street. I do not want to say who had this bright idea to meet here. Her name is Mud in my book, but, still, happiness does love company.
Today has been more interesting than watching television. It is about to get a bit more ribald. Shugee is here. What is Shugee doing here? I should pull the curtain of the paywall before I continue. This story is about to take a turn toward the salty.