I know I have posted on New Orleans ad nauseam, but I love this city and I am back. Behind me as I sit in the hotel lobby, employees are talking about the suicide rate. "Three hundred suicides in the city in the last two months," one of them said.
"I understand where that come from," said the voiturière (I know that sounds stupid but I can't remember the right word in English. The woman who parks your car and watches over it)."I came back after Katrina and saw my house and I bust right out cryin. Wasn't nothin left. Not a book, not a picture on the walls."
In the bar, which reopened last week, people were exchanging hurricane stories. "I had to wade to work with what I could carry, four and a half miles," said the woman bartender. "That duffel bag had ten pounds of dog food, white shirt and a comb and a toothbrush. I lost everything else.'
"I told you to take everything," a mother said to her daughter.
"Well, 'everything' wouldn't fit in the car, Ma."
It's easy to park, the bar gave us free drinks, and the hotel is one-fifth the price of the last time I stayed here.
There are mattresses drying in the halls.