starving there, sitting around the bars,and at night walking the streets for hours,
the moonlight always seemed fake
to me, maybe it was,
and in the French Quarter I watched
the horses and buggies going by,
everybody sitting high in the open
carriages, the black driver, and in
back the man and the woman,
usually young and always white.
and I was always white.
and hardly charmed by the world.
New Orleans was a place to hide.
I could piss away my life,unmolested except for the rats...
Young in New Orleans
Charles Bukowski
