No To NOLA (New Orleans)
That’s what everyone else told me, too, that I should not go to New Orleans. Why did I want to go there? There was no money to be had, that much was assured by just about everyone I talked to.
“If you want to make money, you have to go to where this is money, and New Orleans is not that place. There’s people in poverty all over the streets; it’s not a safe city. You’d be better off going anywhere but there.”
I thought about it; I really considered it. I could have gone home with my tail between my legs, try to pick up the broken pieces to put together what semblance of reality I could. I could have stayed in the sunshine state, where the money tends to flock for the winter, and people were begging me to consider doing this, but things changed.
The cats were running a muck, being too rambunctious, tearing out screens and tromping like elephants. Neighbors were complaining, turning their once friendly faces, singling me out. Even family was urging, with the final straw being my aunt who came down, forcing me out, not being able to stay where cats and too many people were.
I fled. Before I left, I pierced my twat once again at the Matchbox, as I knew that I would be coming into temptation that I should best avoid. Renting a car, picking up my attorney, escaping the carnival of events, Bate’s Motel looked inviting enough, only it was their location in Slidell.
“Who cares? It’s just a room for your cats, really. Who cares if it comes with a leak across the ceiling and a standard, slightly used, dirty needle on the bed stand?”
There was no avoiding it. Even though my attorney was against it, he helped me move, just to make sure I was safe. We were going to New Orleans.
Marisa's Web sites
Black Widow Online Book Home
Marisa's home page
Books by Marisa
Marisa's myspace page
Email: thorisaz@hotmail.com
