This time last year

Image: Cynthia Via


I’m working from home. It’s late afternoon and it’s raining outside. Mini floods have covered the outside world. I woke up early to do some stretches and went to clean the kitchen only to find a mess. I woke up to find a quarter-sized hole in my pear that had been sitting over the counter, and a blue towel left with holes. Clearly this was the work of a rat. Days ago my roommates said they heard a rat behind the wall, and the landlord had set up traps in hidden corners.

This week was the hardest to bike since I’ve been in New Orleans. The winds have been going wild, threatening to punish my bike. Earlier a 30 minute bike ride to Bywater turned out to be a long hour ordeal, granted I was already late to an event. Before leaving I went outside to the black and white cats my roommate was feeding. I petted one of them, since the rest were still estranged. The friendlier one let me scratch his rump. Who knows how long my roommate had been out here petting the cats while I lay asleep.

It was still humid at 10 a.m. when I decided to leave. My tight jeans and jacket made it uncomfortable to bike, not to mention I was wearing flats and the air was sending a fury of leaves straight for my face. This was turning out to be arduous with the dirt in my eyes and my tight jeans. By the time I made it St. Roch, I was dreading the bike ride. I took off my jacket. By now my jeans were sticky, and I would arrive late. I heard the train noise from afar.  On Press St. that inopportune train passed by or, better yet, failed to pass. It was stalling, going back and forth— not clearing the tracks. Finally it started retreating. I was free from the train, but I still felt slow in my clothes. At least the cool air was back.


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