Mark Twain called New Orleans and upholstered sewer. I always called it a dirty lady with a pretty dress.
Well her dress has been pushed up over her knees. It’s tattered, worn, even torn in a few places but she’s back. She’s going out every night making money. A little cheap make up on the bruises and she’s almost as pretty…if the street lights are dim.
And they’re always a little dim.
She’s a filthy lady, she’s dirty deep down inside, but she works hard and she works alone. People have tried to pimp her, unionize her and franchise her, but New Orleans works for no one and can never be conformed or duplicated. She’s walking the boulevard with a limp right now, but she’s proud and it keeps her spine straight.
You can love her, buy her gifts and sacrifice your good health and well being to her an hour at a time and she’ll whisper in your ear and fill your mouth and knock you cold. She has a story to tell you but you have to ply her, cajole and caress her. She’ll tell you her story, but the price is steep.
She’s a beautiful lady, New Orleans, a fiery slut with good manners, the kind of girl you only let your mom meet briefly for fear your secrets will be spilled.