• Docu-Fiction


Wake up at 5 a.m. and wait restlessly for the sun to come up at 6:40 a.m. to go out and run.

In the meantime, it's raining outside, and a feeling of cursing overwhelms the motivated mood. 

Finally the light peers out in a very diffused atmosphere. The shower stopped, and there's nothing holding me back.

The waitress, last night, recommended to go running in Louis Armstrong Park. Yet, despite all my waiting around, I run over there only to find the gates locked and two Jehovah witnesses ready for action with their leaflets and no one else about. Weird.

Moving ahead, some are preaching the choir, while the clean up crews are quickly picking up cups, straws and beer bottles off the ground. 

The last members of the parties are still vapidly trying to get somewhere, to those dim lit rooms, spitting out some jukebox jazz through the doors.

The French Quarter finally feels welcoming in the true light of a new day (and last of the year).

And because the Armstrong park was closed, my feet found the Mississippi River, and I got to run by a few noisy ferries.

Written and photographed In New Orleans, 2016.

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