Another New Orleans narrative

took a few days off from the

everyday drudgery and toil

Saturday night 

my wife and I stayed outside the city

hung with a buddy of roughly 25 years

it was nice to catch up

we are all getting old

a weathered and battered

version of what once was

…so is rotting

leaving the hotel to see him

my gun fell to the elevator floor

I literally shit a .38

I knew it was going to happen when

it dropped to my crotch area

I say, “sorry gentlemen, I’m a

concealed carry holder.”

I look to my wife

“I thought you clipped it to my belt.”

Luckily there were no kids

or ballpark moms in the 

elevator at that time

only a half-drunk ballpark

dad swaying, saying,

“I’m a permit holder, too.”

as well as a large

‘I know it all’ type personality

who barked, “I’m from Texas,

that shit don’t bother me.”

followed by their contrived talk

of firearms for the next 8 seconds

once in the car

we laughed like loonies 

later that night 

we had 2 spinach salads 

with no spinach


we attended Zydeco fest

we stood and sat in the sweltering 

humid heat under a cypress tree 

listening to French-Cajun music

her glistening and me dripping 

we walked to the creole tomato

festival in the French Market

a festival dedicated to a 

fruit disguised as a vegetable

heard rather blah versions

of both jazz and blues

we perused vendors from afar

peddling mostly mass-marketed wares

a literal cooking as the 

national heatwave intensifies

casually strolled past numerous

seemingly dead people on the street

we stop to admire a building 

with spectacular architecture 

as a man’s cocknballs hung out of

his gym shorts as he lie 

sleeping or dead in the entryway 

it turns out

it was the Supreme Court building 

Sunday night 

while waiting on a

food order to be ready

I had another drink I did not need

less than a block away from 

leaving the restaurant 

the bottom of the the bag gave way 

spilling red beans and

gumbo on the wretched sidewalk

drunk and pissed

a condoling onlooker ‘awed’ a

sad face as I salvaged what I could

you can’t cry over spilled gumbo

you can however

drunkenly curse and fume  


we partook a guided tour

the only legal entrance 

to St. Louise #1

one of the oldest above ground

continually active cemeteries

dating back to the early 1800’s

dragging and smothering

triple digit heat index

sweating profusely 


I didn’t take a photo of

Marie Laveau’s tomb


there is rich history there

as well as the literal 

faint smell of death

during one stroll through the city

we noticed a large family of 5

bust into a sprint down the sidewalk

we thought it may have been the smell 

of urine or feces or possibly 

a dead addict on the sidewalk 

but they were only trying to catch 

the St. Charles streetcar

Tuesday night 

we attended a

show at Preservation hall

a quaint and intimate experience

jazz musicians putting in work

geniuses in action

as I begin this piece

12 stories in the sky

sirens scream and howl

someone somewhere 

is fighting to live

or fighting to die

You can’t see his penis from this angle.



(Originally published by Terror House Magazine)

Guy opened the door to Clyde’s, surveyed his surroundings, and took a stool at the bar.  Being a Tuesday night, only a smattering of patrons were present.  It was a fairly upscale establishment that would probably be packed with the office crowd in the evenings, and socialite types on the weekends.  The bartender casually made his way over to Guy. 

“What can I get for you?”

“I’ll just start with a draft beer for now, thanks.”

The bartender returned with the beer and placed it in front of Guy.

“Would you like to start a tab? If not, it’ll be $4.50.”

Guy peeled off a ten dollar bill and slid it toward the bartender.

“Keep the change. Hey, can I ask you a question?”

“Whatcha got?”

“I was wondering if you know anything about a fella by the name of Barry Jacobson.”

He obviously knew something about Barry by the perplexing look that he gave Guy.  The bartender appeared visibly shaken by the mention of this name.  He looked down and shook his head back and forth, before putting the money in the register and returning to face Guy.

“Obviously you haven’t heard. Hell, where do I start? Yeah, Barry came in here once or twice a week on average. That is until….”

The bartender reached for a pack of smokes, pulled one out, lit it, and continued. 

“…well, until the bloodbath happened. Barry was arrested for the murder of his wife. But it wasn’t just your typical ‘husband kills wife’ murder. No, it was much more gruesome than that. It was all over the local news. I’m surprised you didn’t hear about it. That poor woman was tortured, then basically gutted and dismembered. They said it looked like a scene straight from a horror movie.”

He asked the few patrons that were spaced out across the bar if they needed anything. Then he took a drink from a glass that was under the bar, a long draw off his cigarette, and turned back toward Guy.

“I couldn’t believe it personally. I mean, I wasn’t friends with Barry or anything, but he was a very personable guy. Not one that you would think could do some horrific shit like that. But that’s just it. He vehemently claimed his innocence, but the police and detectives found no forcible entry, no evidence of anyone else at the scene, and it definitely wasn’t a suicide. The investigators only found her blood on him and throughout the house and his bloody footprints. He said that it was from him finding her like that, and that he was passed out drunk during the killing. Personally, when I saw his interview on the news, he seemed believable, but there just isn’t another logical explanation. You ready sir?”

The bartender cashed out an older gentleman, thanked him for coming in, took another long pull from his cigarette and proceeded with the story.

“I mean, it was none of my business, but I did see him in here with different women from time to time. I never saw his wife with him, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that he would kill her. Although, all signs do point to him. You can’t argue with evidence, circumstantial or not. I would have never guessed that he was capable of such a thing, especially seeing his interview before they arrested him. He’s got some real good acting chops, aside from his story and all.”

“Story?” Guy asked, as he slid his empty glass away from him.

“Oh, goddamn! Yes, his story. That’s the best part. If this kind of shit could have a best part. Not only did he say that he was passed out drunk, and woke to find her like that, but he claimed that a ghost had to have killed her.  Do you believe that shit? Needless to say, the detectives didn’t put an APB out on Casper for the killings.”

The bartender started laughing, but quickly regained his composure.

“I’m sorry. Hell, I shouldn’t laugh. A beautiful young woman is dead, but holy shit, you’d think he would have thought that out a little more. You know what I’m saying?”

Guy nodded in agreement and said, “I know what you mean. So is he in jail now?”

“Jail? Hell no.They locked that crazy animal up at the Bellmore Institution. That’s worse than any maximum security prison that you could think of. That’s where they put the criminally insane. The absolute dregs of society are in that place. If you end up there, you aren’t getting out. There’s no parole or anything like that at the Bellmore. Rumor has it that they still do horrendous experimental treatments there. It’s basically legal torture. However, nobody really knows. No one has ever come out of there alive to tell about it. So, did you know Barry?”

“Yeah, Barry was my business partner a few years back and we became quite good friends. We started a software company together then sold it for a fairly hefty price. We were living the dream, smoking good cigars and drinking the finest whiskeys. They left us on as consultants and things couldn’t have been any better. That is, until I found out that Barry was having an ongoing affair with my wife.”

“Holy shit. That had to be a blow to you,” 

“You can say that again. I went absolutely crazy. I felt like my whole world crumbled, and I couldn’t trust anyone anymore.”

“Damn man. I’m sorry to hear that. I guess the news about Barry fooling around doesn’t come as a complete shock to you then. But hey, you’re doing a hell of a lot better than him now. You have that going for you.”

“Yeah, everything worked out the way it should’ve,” Guy said, with a slight grin.

“So did you divorce your wife after you found out?”

“No. I killed myself.”

Guy got up from his stool, walked out of the bar, and disappeared into the street.