I was sitting in a dim corner of a jazz club in the French Quarter last Tuesday, listening to a saxophonist struggle through a solo because his reed was just…
I was sitting in a cramped corner of a dusty bookstore last Tuesday, rearranging some titles to find a bit of accidental poetry, when I overheard a guy complaining about…
I was sitting in a cramped, dimly lit jazz club in the French Quarter last Tuesday, watching a saxophonist lose himself in a solo, when it hit me: most people…
I was hunched over 'The Muse' last Tuesday, the scent of old paper and espresso hanging heavy in the air, when a sudden, sharp realization hit me like a missed…
I was sitting in a cramped terminal in New Orleans last summer, the air thick with humidity and the distant, brassy wail of a street performer, staring at a man…
The ink was still drying on my latest poem when I looked out at my backyard and realized my soil was playing a completely different tune than my soul. Most…
I was sitting in a dimly lit corner of a New Orleans cafe last Tuesday, the smell of chicory coffee heavy in the air, when I watched a young artist…
I was sitting in a dim corner of a French Quarter cafe last Tuesday, listening to the clatter of espresso machines and the distant, brassy wail of a trumpet, when…
The heavy thud of a moving chair hitting the wall echoed through my studio like a sudden, dissonant chord in a smooth jazz set, leaving a jagged crater right where…
The scent of old paper and espresso usually centers me, but this morning, the clatter of 'The Muse' felt like a frantic drum solo gone wrong. I was staring at…