It is finally happening. The one great apocalypse that those insane sign wavers talked about inthe Frenxh Quarter. The 'Big Wind' is here. Sky becoming black as I pull out the lap top onto this ancient porch. May very well be the last transmission from this place. Yayabo is still drinking, and the granfather of this place, Don Ron, will not leave, insisting that I fry up more plantains- that the smoke from the cigar is perfect and he cannot abandon this place.
I feel like I am on a ship, and I cannot leave- dont want toleave. Yes, the waves comes and go, like spiraling thoughts in a drunken mind. But the Bayou don't look that bad. Bad. That is the only thing that the damn radio says, so the few remaining us shut it off. Knowing it is the vital reason why everyone takes batteries. I mean here I am looking at an entire barrel of Caribbean rum, from the island of my blood birth- and....
Damn Riggs calling from his Escalade- dammit!
No comments:
Post a Comment