Slowburn

Chapter 64

         When we first moved to New Orleans I used to love walking the French Quarter, but also other districts like taking the old trolley down through the garden district. Everyone knows the French Quarter for things like Mardi Gras and Bourbon Street, but there is so much more to see here. 

There are a lot of creative people that seem to find their way down to Nola and the magic of it's streets. On any given day you'll see someone playing a brass instrument on the corner or a parade of musicians to hook in the tourists. 

For the locals Nola is a different place though. There is City Park, which is acres of trees and even a pond right in the heart of New Orleans. There is St. Louis Cemetery where the actual voodoo queen herself is buried. People often leave offerings beside her tomb. 

        Due to vandalism and even grave robbers the cemetery is now permanently closed to the general public. Didn't stop me and my brother from climbing the gridiron gates and hopping over them in the middle of the night when we'd first moved there. 

I got to see the grave, but I hope she didn't curse me for breaking into a cemetery. Though we touched nothing and left soon after when we saw a cop car down the road.

        I'm one day back and I already heard about a pop up art flea market-type thing down by the French District. It's where I'm walking to today since all of my family will be at work until later. It's no problem for me. I know these streets. I spent two years wandering this magical place. 

Why is it magical? I can't explain it. There is something in the air here that is different. That's why so many people here believe in the supernatural. It is a very superstitious place. 

        The French market is where you go to do your shopping. It's an open air market, and today some local artists have a pop up shop I would love to check out. The common style of the New Orleans French Quarter is the infamous Creole Townhouse style, where there are commercial businesses usually on the bottom floor with apartments up above it. They are usually lined by a balcony made up of the ironworks you see a lot here. It's all cast iron.

        Since the French Market district is over by the canal I was walking the streets closest to the view as I honestly walked at leisure. I had nowhere to be. I was on 'vacation' but really I was just hiding for a few days until I figured out how to restart my life here in Nola again. 

My father is strict and living under his roof again might make me digress to how life was before Boston. Maybe that's a good thing. Things got a little out of control back there. 

        July is the hottest month in Nola, usually staying in the 90s, so I was sweltering as I walked under the harsh sun. I was only in a baby tee and high waist shorts, but I could feel the clothes clinging to me. I'd already put my hair in a high ponytail, hung long down my back for the amount of hair I had. I need a trim. 

I wasn't carrying a bag. I never liked to. It's annoying to keep track of. Instead I had my phone tucked at the front of my pants, because yes you can get pickpocketed around here, and anything I needed was in my phone case. 

        I decided to stop at a corner to buy a water bottle because I was thirsty from all the sweating I'm probably doing. The man was carrying a little cart with a refrigerated ice box to sell water and pops to the kids. He had a cartoonish white mustache, and his shirt sagged like maybe he'd lost weight in recent years. 

I dug around in my pocket for the dollars once he told me the price, but just as I pulled them out a hand extended past me and handed the man the money. The old guy's eyes shifted up above my head, and when I glanced back my body jolted from the shock of seeing Renzo Revello leaning over me to pay for my water bottle.