bellmusker

Melbourne, Australia

I love the words that fall between the cracks. / I write with black coffee, and bare feet. / Both seem to help.

Twenty years on the Mississippi, and he couldn't swim a lick

There are times when you’re happy to be back from an overseas trip; when, after weeks of backpacking, you long for a hot shower, a laundry, and your own bed to nestle into.

But then there are times when all you can think about is the memory of a cup of gumbo in one hand, a voodoo daiquiri in the other, and the heat and decadence of a New Orleans summer curling around you as a dixieland jazz band plays and you wish you never had to leave.

So. Many. Stories.

This is just a short message to say thanks for the well wishes from many bubblers…Lisa I are home safe and sound, and the travel journals will come soon. Until then, here’s a little sample…our chicken personas in Beale Street, Memphis, after one too many cinnamon whiskeys.

Back to work on the San Francisco journal!

Journal Comments

  • Enivea
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