Dream

Last night, I had a vivid dream of being back in New Orleans. It was like a charred and destroyed European city at the end of the second World War. There was a thin crust of almost-normalcy along the river, but even there random buildings were in rubble, the air was toxic, and it was deserted and eerily quiet. When you came to the edge, there was an abrubt line beyond which miles and miles of smoking bombed out shells of buildings lay dark as far as vision extended. I was looking out at this through a window of a bar. I started to cry and a group of black guys made fun of me as if I was a gawker and tourist and I started to hit them with a stick and shout that I just got home and New Orleans is my home and I love New Orleans.

Except for the last part about hitting people with sticks, that's probably not far from the way it will really be.