I made a promise to never set foot in New Orleans again.  Maybe it wasn’t so much a promise as a court order, but a few years had passed, and there’s always a new generation of young people who make the streets of this town what it is.  And things do change pretty rapidly, so that there are very few who might remember some of the things that happened here a few years ago.  That was my hope, anyway, so when I got to thinking about luxury hotels, New Orleans came to mind, but it was actually already in my mind, well-planted.  I’ve had some nice times here.

I don’t remember the year exactly, I would have thought it was 1983, but it seems as though I’m wrong, judging from the way things have played out, but I remember the events.  I had become a little enamored with a perfume dealer in town, a certain Madame Duvalier and her assistant V’lu Jackson, and it may have been with a slightly romantic bent, but it was more about smell.  They both had exquisite taste and scent in all things, and I recall there were some things coming from their shop that caused me to remember all of my dreams.  Not only the dreams of the night before, but all of them since forever and ever, and I don’t know what else.  I know one of the ingredients was jasmine.

There was some confusion, and some things happened that made it impossible to continue working with them, but in the meantime, I had the opportunity to work with some of the former residents on other projects.  Art is a lot like life, or vice versa, or maybe I mean love, but there is a certain moment when the mercury meets the salt and things start to make more sense than they had previously.  There are also interesting traveling companions that can certainly help to make sense of things, and make the voyage so much sweeter.  I might decide to make perfume of my own, or I might decide to keep the rest secret, but if you run into me, you’ll certainly recognize my, and I do hope you’ve guessed my name.  I like to hear my name.

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