"Pistol shots rang out in a barroom night." Well, not last night in
Chicago. The city fell silent from the usual cacophony of small arms
fire for a full twenty-four hours. Not a small feat in this 3 million
plus metropolis filled with angry, frustrated people such as myself.
Yes, that's right I am in Chicago proper this morning. Beatin' the
street, hoofin' it, singing the "Back Rent Blues." Sleeping on the
couch, collecting newspapers, "I ain't got a job." Aloof, I stand in
the hallway and listen to my sister's friend talk about rent. I flop on
to the couch, pretend not to be listening and dream as hard as I can
about the best bowl of gumbo I have ever had.

It was in New Orleans, 1996, I was sent on a mission by a couple of my
partners in crime to find an apartment in New Orleans. I knew the city
pretty well, Uptown to the Quarter, Garden District to Meterie. That
doesn't mean that me and the city had any kind of congenial
relationship, quite the contrary... Let me put it this way, New Orleans,
as anyone who has been there, is a lady, sophisticated with just enough
dirt under the nails to make her even more mysterious. I was more like
a doting suitor that just wouldn't take a hint, not until the
authorities had gotten involved and warned me not to come anywhere
near her for at least thirty days (another story but I'll leave that
for another time). Well, I was head over heels in love with her and she
treated me like most women do when a man just won't take a hint, with
contempt. I floated through her streets, my feet never touching the
ground.

My friends were sending me upwards of six hundred dollars a week, a
large sum for someone who has absolutely no overhead, and to my credit,
I didn't spend any of it frivolously, at least not at the beginning.
That's yet another story and I'm trying to get to the gumbo. I had
saved all of the money and was trying to find a good apartment Uptown,
hopefully next to my favorite bar, Snake and Jake's Christmas Bar, on
Oak Street. Unfortunately, my timing was wrong. Three weeks to Mardi
Gras, a 22 year old kid without a job (this is a recurring theme), with
a lot of money coming from questionable means (note to self look up the
statute of limitations for, you know). In New Orleans neighborhoods are
very patchy, in some places the street right behind all of the
magnificent homes on St. Charles St. can compare to many of the worst
places in most big cities. True, in relation to New Orleans you could
do a whole lot worse. Anyway, I was looking for a slightly posh spot up
near Tulane University, and no one wanted to rent to me due to the
reasons stated above.

While looking for an apartment I was also looking for a straight job. I
had a lead on a doorman position at the Hyatt Regency in the Quarter.
While not particularly thrilled by the prospect of opening the door for
a bunch of drunken yuppies, I wasn't really in the place to decline
anything. I talked to the manager, who seemed very interested in giving
me a chance at the gig. I took a shower, put on my bests, and headed
downtown to the interview. I was crossing Basin Street when a group of
old graying black men with broad smiles stationed in a small concrete
gazebo on the boulevard called me over. They slapped me on the back and
threw a jug of Carlo Rossi wine into my hands. I had a little time to
spare and some fresh gum in my pocket, I figured, "what the hell? How
often does a chance like this come around?" The rest of the afternoon
is pretty much a blur, all that I remember is singin' "Basin Street
Blues" with these guys and pestering tourists with wine all down the
front of my Sunday's bests and a purple grin just as wide as the other
fellas.
Basin Street is the street,
Where all the white and the black boys meet,
Oh down in New Orleans,
Land of dreams
That night one of the guys took me back to his ramshackle apartment,
built on the bulldozed Storyville. The steps into the building were
clean and freshly swept though slanted hazardously. We ran up the
slanted steps into the building, and through a door at the end on a
dimly lit hall. All of my anxiety drowned in jug wine I entered without
any fear. He sat me down at the kitchen table to yell at his wife that
he had a guest.

I know y'all want to know what happened, or maybe ya don't but you'll
just have to wait until tomorrow. I got to look for some jobs right
now.