Past Imperfect

Past Imperfect – #219

Old Absinthe Sign: “I am so tired of all these tourists in the French Quarter.”

Bienville Street Sign: “Seriously? You’ve been here over two hundred years and you haven’t learned how to deal with it yet?”

Absinthe: “You don’t understand. All these grimy rednecks come staggering in here, thinking they can find something to guzzle that will make them have visions like Nicole Kidman in Moulin Rouge.”

Street: “No, those aren’t rednecks having visions. Those are the gays with disposable income. Rednecks would never watch a movie with a French title, it’s not what their version of Jesus would do. They don’t know Moulin Rouge from a septic tank.”

Absinthe: “Speaking of sordid wetness, why are these people so surprised that it’s humid here? Do they not have any concept of geography? There’s water everywhere. You can throw a cocktail and hit the ocean. Still, you don’t understand my pain. You’re what? Fifty years old? That’s nothing in this town.”

Street: “Are you pulling the age card on me? My family has been here for generations. My grand-daddy pointed the way to the Red Light District and my daddy helped morphine-addicts find Marie Laveau’s grave. We have a proud history.”

Absinthe: “You also have titty-beads hanging from your face. Do you really want to keep comparing notes about who has more pride?”

Tourist, drunk and babbling and staggering: “Does anybody know where I can find Gene The Feets? It’s at the corner of Beanville and BonBon streets? Is that where I’m at? I want some Abbie Sin!” Then she falls face down in the middle of the intersection, which is the real reason why the cobblestones are so worn in the French Quarter, not the horse-drawn carriages.

Street: “Okay, you might have a point. The tourists can be a bit much.”

Absinthe: “This is how nations fail. Wait, hold up. Here comes another one and he’s got a selfie-stick.”

Street: “Marie Laveau, give me strength.”

Marie, roughly three blocks over and somewhat undead in Saint Louis Cemetery No. 1: “Both of you fools need to shut the hell up. Try getting a decent nap when idiots keep scribbling Xs on your tomb. Scratch, scratch, scratch, all the damn day. And what am I going to do with all these candles? It’s not like I’ve got a lot of storage in here. And the beignets! Why would I need a beignet? I should just round ‘em all up and throw ‘em in a trolley car and send it to Café du Monde.”

Café du Monde, back on the other side of the French Quarter: “I don’t think so, girl. You keep those nasty beignets up in your grill. We’ve got enough problems dealing with obsessed tourists who will stand in line for two hours just to eat the same beignet you can find anywhere else in this city. They’re not that hard to make, people. Not that hard!

Lady dressed in a Bo Peep outfit, only without the bottom part, straddling a wooden swing in a “private” sex club in the center of the Quarter: “Did I hear someone say ‘hard’? Is this when I start getting tips? I’ve been on this swing for hours and I’m getting windburn in a place I never imagined. I’m gonna need something to cool that thing down.”

Back at the crossing of Beanville and BonBon, Our Lady of the Drunken Magdalena wakes up in the middle of the intersection: “Down? How did I get down here? Did I already have the Abbie Sin? Did I miss my plane? Does that marriage still count?”

Old Absinthe Sign: “And it’s another Tuesday night in the Quarter.”

Bienville Street Sign: “Let the good times troll. Say, could you help get these beads off me? I don’t have any arms.”

 

21 replies »

  1. How Bienville gentrifies on the other side of the graveyard…I wouldn’t walk through there on a well lit day. I was younger, and drenched one morning after almost no exertion in N’Awlins. Never really got dry from taking a shower. I said something about it, probably profane, and a man says to me “It’s bad today alright, but I never heard of no one throwin’ their back out shovelin’ humidity.”

    Liked by 1 person

  2. This conversation took place PRIOR to Katrina, right? Or was the wood and cobblestones so sturdy (plus steeped in history and horse dung ((that stuff is a *itch to get out of the cracks)..that they withstood the ‘Big Wind’? I always wanted to go to New Orleans, but had forgotten the sticky hell that humidity is. Plus all those f*ckin’ PEOPLE everywhere. >sigh< Maybe in another life I'll be reincarnated as Marie. Then I can put a curse on anyone who wears loud colors and gets drunk at 11 a.m. 'Course that'd be bad for tourism…

    Liked by 1 person

    • Actually, the French Quarter fared pretty well during Katina, as compared to other areas of the city. And really, knowing that Marie was alive and cursing again would probably INCREASE tourism. In any case, you really have to visit New Orleans at least once, just to see if the city speaks to you. If it does, you’ll be going back… 😉

      Liked by 1 person

  3. WERE the wood and cobblestones.. >sigh< I hate it when grammar faux pas are my fault. I'll blame it on the quantities of absinthe consumed because it was "the thing to do" while visiting Ye Olde Absinthe Pub….

    Liked by 1 person

  4. I’ve always admired your naming abilities, as well as your way of bringing life to inanimate objects.
    That bit about people being surprised it’s humid — yeah, what’s up with that?
    When we have summer visitors in Phoenix, they’re absolutely shocked by how hot it is. Seriously? If the saguaros weren’t enough of a clue you were entering a desert, maybe the $100 hotel room suddenly slashed to $42 might have tipped you off?

    Liked by 1 person

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