How does this pass?
"'You can see hope in the fact that people (who frankly I could give two shts about, 'cept for this funny hornman) are absolutely determined to make it better than it was before...(which was, heh heh, a place where, runny-nosed and loudly)...I spent many a fine day here in New Orleans," he said, pausing for the punchline, "and a pretty good night, too."'
Dig the blackheart.
I'm walking over to Gallier Hall right now. Supposedly homeboy is planting a tree.
Well, there was the tired, jock/nerd dynamic across the barricades, as a handful of hoarse protestors asked the porky secret service agents how it felt. Only about 15 to a side. I saw an old neighbor, who talked about free-trade and apathy. For some reason, two streetcars were positioned in front of Gallier Hall, and a set of bleachers stood across the street, Mardi Gras- style. No one but press to watch, and it wasn't clear from Poydras and St. Charles what exactly there was to see.
To follow this act, we may get a fatigued senior citizen who sold his soul to play Reagan for a few months. We may get a former first lady ala a South American dictorship, or a battered African American man who somehow survives an emasculation effort from both sides. But, while I'm feeling a little better about our town this week, we should admit that we lost to Bush. He moves on, leaving his keepers and detractors to mumble in the street, the vaults empty and the pumps encased in gold, the war in bloom and the enemy still hidden. You think Bush is stressed about any of that?
On the way over there just now, I thought I saw Alberto Gonzalez at the corner of Carondelet, walking with a group toward One Shell Square (pretty sure not him). I wasn't shocked at the sight, but at the possibility that it wouldn't shock me at all.
At least for this stage, the game's over, and the bad guys give toasts in Gallier Hall.