Rien de mieux que d'être à la maison

You may be surrounded by hundreds of strangers their clothes soaked in pungent alcohol and their distasteful vomit . You may have been this street for a week following those before you to a safe haven that would never come.You may have looked twice about the voodoo doctors that stand astray outside their doors, their hands covered in the blood of a hell sent goat and the wretched passageways to cursed beings souls.

Above you are the neon lights  guiding you into mischief and self loathing glowing onto the cobblestone path exposing the lost souls engraved into its roots and cement . Above you are the gypsies gawking at the indecency of the generation below exposing their bare breast to yearn for a feeling that'll never come. Below you are the heads of craw fish , scrabbles of Beignets ,and specks of peppermint candy snatched out of the mouths of Jezebels who would never return home.

Beneath you was southern soil ,fresh ,and seeking new souls to hold hostage in the Jazz filled city where screams turn into echoes ,and echoes into music .

Beneath you,around you ,Above you is New Orleans and the essence of Mardi gras.