nightlight

An hour later she's passed out and they are lifting her into bed, turning the audio book down low, and plugging in a night light; a little bear. Mel bought it for her over 5 years ago and its still in the same electrical outlet. Next to a really pathetic sketch of a suspension bridge they crossed over one summer on a quick vacation to Louisiana. Just past Baton Rouge, a cute little swampy college town. When they arrived in New Orleans, Mel was terrified and refused to get out of the car. Memaw leaned on the trunk and smoked a cigarette while people stumbled past, tossing her beads and showing her their boobs. So she did too – and the younger guys, maybe 25, got a kick out of that, yelling for more, 'shake it granny'. 

Worse than Vegas, no glamour, no glitz, no flashing lights or feather outfits just partial nudity, the scent of alcohol and vomit and something similar to burning bamboo and seaweed. That almost salty scent of the swamp heat. Back roads of drooping willow trees and colonial homes with large porches. They sit out at night with hanging lamps, fanning themselves, drinking tea or something rocky. The young girls keep to themselves, the men fixate on theatrics as there is a fashion of theater, of playing drunken dress up and bar dancing, of pool and balcony people watching. By midnight everyone is a lover, a medicine man, or a voodoo queen. That passion to persuade, to lead one off into the night for love making, heavy sensual sex. The hole damn town smells like hot swampy sex and tears.