In a quarter not whole, but a crescent in fold, where the streets drip with syrup and the sidewalks grow old, there’s a door with no hinges that swings on pure thought, and a hat made of mirrors that forgets what it’s taught.

I woke in a room where the walls were all eyes, each blink a small riddle, each squint a disguise. The floorboards were whispering secrets of Spain, while the ceiling confessed to a long-ago rain.

I sipped on a coffee that tasted like bells, and chewed on a beignet that spun endless spells. A trombone marched backward; the clarinets wept, and the river uncoiled like a snake that had slept.

I met Monsieur Boudreaux who wore twenty shoes— one for each time he refused to choose. He danced down Chartres Street on the notes of a tune only heard by the spoons and a sliver of moon.

Madame Laveau sold umbrellas of thought, some opened to futures, some futures forgot. She cackled and said, “In this city, mon cher, your shadow walks twice and your soul’s never square!”

There were churches with altars to ghosts without names, and balconies dripping with half-finished games. The wind wore a bonnet and crooned at the bricks, while a cat in a bowler taught gambling tricks.

At Jackson Square, clocks turned into birds, and the artists sold paintings that smelled like new words. The pigeons preached sermons, the tourists grew vines, the statues cracked jokes at the end of their lines.

I bought a cigar that smoked in reverse, I swallowed a song and it spat out a verse. I married a trumpet, divorced a bass drum, and had seven affairs with a laughing trombone.

By evening the Quarter was folded in four, and stuffed in the pocket of a man with no door. He tipped me a wink with a hat full of stars—then vanished right into the strings of a guitar.

When night licked the city with velvet and gin, I peeled off my body and let the dream spin—through alleys that argued, through taverns that spun, through the infinite corners where all stories run.

And somewhere, just somewhere, between Yes and Goodbye, a parade marched forever through the back of my eye.