Rue de Chartres Just down the street from where an exiled Napoleon was offered rooms, and the ‘casket girls’ (filles à la cassette) stopped a spell at the Ursaline Convent before giving birth to the city, itinerants crouch beneath lamp posts that lean into the unrelenting wind. Some are weary of the road, the rails; and the tunes jangling in their heads keep their guitar cases open, as if half expecting a Haitian rain cloud will deposit therein a Vodou talisman, or a guilt-struck celebrity will happen by, looking for a rescue mission. Others, though, hold their instruments close: they know storms seed typhoons, that levees break. Besides, a lull in the battering wind will surely come, inns open their doors, and down the street, lovers wait, primed to hear their golden tunes.
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I love what you see in visuals! A chanteuse, this one.
I meant chanteur!