New Orleans
March 2, 2022
Throat like chalk. I looked in the fridge for water. All I saw was beer and soda. I closed the fridge and grabbed the largest glass in sight and filled it with tap-water. I sat down at the round table in the center of Lyle Saxon’s living room.
I’d been living in the Writer’s House in New Orleans for a few months. It was fun to stand on the balcony and watch the tour guides stop in front of the house and deliver their spiel to their customers. “Lyle Saxon bought this house during the WPA (Works Progress Administration) days. He brought many of the great American writers here to live with him at this house including Sinclaire Lewis, Hemingway, Faulkner….”
Lyle Saxon was the director of the Federal Writers' Project Works Progress Administration guide to Louisiana. His house was later bought by a retired businessman who made his money in the steel industry.
I came here to visit old friends who lived in the building and to set up shows.
Three months into my visit my friend told me I lived there.
“You know, after 2 months, it’s no longer a visit or vacation, you’ve moved in. You’ve now been here for 3 months. Even if you leave tomorrow, you can say you officially lived here,” she said.
Voice like chalk, too much smoke, too much liquor, too much salt, too much sugar. I’d been living like an American, too much of everything bad for me. I could feel the negative effects.
Mouth like chalk … I filled the glass with water. Sat down at the center table. I opened a copy of Baudelaire’s poetry that was given to me and began to sip the water.
“What are you doing?” said the woman I was staying with.
I was a bit confused as to what she was asking about. “What? The Baudelaire?” I said.
“No,” she said. “What are you drinking?”
I said “Oh it’s just water.”
Her eyes were wide and she was looking at me like I was crazy.
“I wouldn’t drink that if I were you. I can grab you a beer if you want?” she said.
“Well I just didn’t really want beer,” I said.
She started shaking her head at me like I had done something wrong.
She said “You should pour that out. I really wouldn’t drink it if I were you? You know there’s beer in the fridge?”
“Yeah, I saw that, just didn’t really want beer, you know? And what’s wrong with drinking water?” I said.
She said “You haven’t heard?…A pipe bust open, there’s a boil advisory. There’s literally tons of actual shit in the water supply. The city even said you aren’t supposed to drink the water or eat seafood for another three months. And if the city is saying that, then you know it’s bad. And honestly, I don’t know that I’d ever trust it.”
“Wait,” I said, “I just need to make sure I get this right: I can’t go outside and breathe the air because there’s a plague going around. And I can’t even drink the water now? What’s left? What kind of world is this?...””
While I sat contemplating, she said “I’ll order more beer.”
11 AM. Throat like chalk. I dumped out my water, grabbed a beer, and began drinking.
Diddnt you learn anything from medieval times!