We strolled down Bourbon street, lost in film noir scenery. Neon lights and shadows surrounded seedy bars, where night people searched for the spirit of life, or tried to forget the very same. Never-minding the shades of craze between the Dungeon and strip clubs, we slipped into the Preservation Hall to witness a bunch of age-grayed cool cats jam the night away.
And the desperation of living faded in the face of pure light and true joy of being alive. They say clichés are true. Oh! such a lovely cliché is jazz on Bourbon street!
(New Orleans, Louisiana, USA; December 2013)