Photo: Infrogmation of New Orleans, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia CommonsWikimedia Commons I drink a beer that tastes like lemons. The TV is loud. The man next to me, a stranger turned comrade in our mutual attack to get the attention of the bartender, is smiling. He...
After “Dear Arecelus” by Patrick Royal I wish I had thought of stealing literary fruitfrom dead writers’ houses, like plums, and slurpingat its meat and sweetness to expose their pits;instead, I spend an hour at Carousel Barin New Orleans nursing one glasswith ghosts...
