Side Mirror, Dusk Rush hour on the causeway. The van ahead hasn't moved in three light cycles. I catch myself in the mirror, camera already up, and realize I've been hunting frames even while stuck in traffic. The city glows pink behind everything that isn't moving.
Hotel Monteleone, Room 412 Golden hour through damask curtains. I'm supposed to be getting ready for dinner, but the light is doing something I can't ignore. The mirror catches it all—the photographer photographing himself photographing. A hall of mirrors in a single frame.
Morning Constitutional He crosses Frenchman Street like he owns it. Maybe he does, in his own way. Sixty years of New Orleans mornings in those calves. The socks pulled high. No rush. Somewhere to be, but no hurry getting there.
The Wait Everyone's watching something off-frame. A second line. A tour. A man proposing. The guy in the cream jacket is the only one who notices me standing in the street noticing them. He'll be gone in two seconds. I take one.
The Doorway He fits the shop. Or the shop fits him. White henley, clean lines, expensive sneakers. He's not waiting for customers—he's soliciting them with perfume samples or eyeshadow. The pink orchids are a little too perfect. They may be fake.
Laura's, Since 1913 He is posing for me but I was taking a picture of the Extra Large Candy - Please ask for Assistance. Some things you don't price out of your life.
Frenchman Street, Pedicab Heading Anywhere The WWII Museum logo on the front. French Antique Shop on the left. He's pedaling between centuries, hauling tourists through time for tips.
Blue and Yellow Pedicabi I snapped him later. Warm enough to talk to me. The Christmas lights behind him are blurring. This is a man who knows the Quarter.
Mobility Scooter NOLA Moving through the crowd like everyone else was standing still.
Pink tie and NOLA November light. He smiled when I asked if I could take his picture. Some people carry their own sun around with them.
Tableside Bananas Foster The flames leap higher. Well-known dessert that has a story. The waiter, sub-waiter and barback tended to us but only the waiter risked their life to make dessert. Behind the fire, our Thanksgiving at least had a good picture out of it.
Tableside Sunglasses, camera in hand. He sat like a regular guest and got up. He took pictures of everyone and their dinner. I surprised him and took this.
Multitasking NOLA She knew I was there. That is the whole point.
Green roll-down, plastic bag at his feet, hood up against a chill that isn't really there. He's watching something down the alley I can't see. Or maybe he's watching nothing at all. Sometimes that's enough.
Canal Street Cruise He's got somewhere to be and his own way of getting there. The Voodoo Chicken sign behind him feels right. This city runs on its own logic.
Bayou Classic Weekend Cymbals up, eyes forward, winter air in their breath. Two bands, two schools, one street. The kid in the beanie is about to crash those plates together and shake something loose in everyone watching. This is what the city sounds like when it's showing off.