I’m sitting here in my bed poking around on the innerwebs, I hear a far off whistle, and I’m thinking to myself how nice it is to be close to the river again so that I can hear the sounds of ships at night, the sounds that I used to fall asleep to when I was a kid.
Then I remember I’m back in Austin.
“No, dear, this is the dream, you’re still back in the cell.”
Which means it wasn’t a ship, it was just a fucking train.
Sigh.
Too blue to fly
Posted in austin, new orleans
That was the light at the end of the tunnel you heard going by.
Which I don’t really mean, but it’s a great line and needs to go in some hard-boiled dialog.
It’s a temporary flop, man. You have a lot of world to go live in, in a couple years.
Meanwhile, I need to get some reason to visit the company we just bought in Austin, so I can come hang out on Apple’s dollar.
On this side the river, you hear a lot of train whistles too. Where I grew up you just got the occasional fog horn.
The six weeks of spring where the air conditioner isn’t on at night, I miss that when I’m not here. I gravitate to apartments near rivers; even had one in rochester, where the river froze solid in the winter and you felt like you were in a russian novel.
Trains are good too, not ships, not in NOLA, but still good. I’m sorry, darlin’. FWIW, you give voice to displaced New Orleanians everywhere.