He throws down his tip box on the curb side, straightens up his shirt and sings.
I hear, belted out, those familiar words to an old song,

“I was born by the river…”

Sam Cooke’s, A Change is Gonna Come fills the back streets along the French Quarter - weaving in and out of drunken circles and out-of-towners on that haunted tour. 
It’s a wistful cry to a reality close to home and rings constantly in the back of my mind.

Is change gonna come?
If so, will it last?

By day your stocking shelves…arranging retail or putting up with arrogant upper class and/or disaster tourists…
By night, these streets are your rehearsals…your stage…and you, are our Soulful Sirens, stopping us dead in our tracks…if not physically, then most definitely spiritually. 

Around the Rues of Bourbon, Chartres and Royal, the songs and sounds of these streets remind me that these words and voices are important in our understanding of culture…
We cling to change, as we hope for better and more promising futures - but are reminded that some change is not sustainable. We lose “umph” - for lack of better wording. 

It sinks in when I’ve left. 
When something about that place is beyond my means of understanding. 
The beignets and dark silhouettes find their places in a production of something far more substantial than I can come to realize. 

I like this place…if even for a night.
It settles me back into an understanding that time heals…

And that we always hold on to that…because in the recesses of our souls…

..a change gonna’come…
oh, yes it will…