When In New Orleans...

     In some late days in New Orleans, the atmosphere would sometimes churn into this; the air would turn bloated and hungry, as to take me to emotions of nostalgic regret and fun. This. This was the long forgotten perfume that I yearned for so long a time. And now that I could finally smell the intoxicating odor of my first city... I was hooked. Again. I felt as though I always wanted to feel as glamorous as I did now and any world outside of New Orleans wasn't the world for me and as long as God preserved the heart of lust, jazz, and light of New Orleans, every other city could crumble to dust and I wouldn't care. Walking through the streets of crisp trees and pouring rain I realized how unlike this city was compared to somewhere like San Francisco or Chicago- every place had a story and every story had a game, engaging all five senses at the same time. In every problematic success or exciting misstep of America it was always there.  The Creole era, in the French takeover, and now with Jazz, it's omnipresent.
     It was the most riveting yet most vulnerable moment, walking alone in such a city: with temptation and grandeur, disgusting or delighting every corner. There were lots of wonderful things in the city, like the French Quarter, Mardi Gras, and Jackson Corner, but so did every city had one version or the other. But the people here were different. Not good or bad, but weird different. As in they're brave enough to be themself and not follow the norm. But when everyone doesn't follow the norm the city transforms into a wonderful explosion of different diversities and cultures.And the more I walked the more I realized how odd this place was, not in a totally negative fashion, but rather to say if you were trying to surprise one of its citizens with anything foreign they would remark how they recognized it and go sprain a leg or hit the bush or whatever odd means that they participated in. And so the city harbored, or really, gladly greeted any and all eccentricities (sometimes to a point of fault) that even voodoo found a home here and there is no coincidence to why.
     My pilgrimage wasn't all fabulous, decadence still concealed some of the buildings and sin was as apparent as ever. Impressionable wanderers chose a side here, and it's mischief sabotaged even the most revered of people into its menacing ways. In some corners it wasn't even concealed the horrors of my this place, crimes ran hefty and never ending. However whatever germs resided it wasn't too much for the city to wipe away. I'm not going to enchant you anymore about the attractiveness of this city, for risk of riding onto too many cliches or seeming too advertising, but New Orleans was my home, and this my homecoming.
      I was a New Orleanian, and we always stay here our entire lives. The city beckons us to stay, for its beauty and resonance that is shaped differently in every single corner of this metropolis. But sometimes we do leave, but when we do leave physically, to find a better college or a better job, but we always come back. We have to because we always forget something back here, our heart. And then we stay, because that is the way that it is. If you're born in New Orleans you die here, because you wouldn't want to risk dying without all of your organs.
     New Orleans could destroy your spirit. Break your body bone by bone and do the same to your home stick by stone. It has the capacity to devastate your relationships, all holding by a thread and chopped off with the burning liquor of the city. It can make your bank account disappear like a magic act, except this one doesn't make the subject reappear.  Its power is so great it will cause you to lose all your freedom bit by bit until your worst nightmare appears and you realize that what you were seeing all along was simply an allusion. But in August, in August that was the time for all your dreams to come true, because it was New Orleans baby, and it is the city of misfits, music, and amazing.