Katrina

She was a voodoo woman from New Orleans; he was a burnt-out hippie from Nashville, Tennessee. They met on a Friday night in Jackson Square. He’d been busking on Royal and he needed a light, she had a candle and she was such a sight, behind her Tarot card table and her card-board sign. She read him his fortune and he sang her a song, they stayed out all night long on the bank of the river sipping some home-made wine. Singing Blow, Blow Hurricane, bring on your wind and bring on your rain. Ain’t you gonna put up more of a fight. Blow, Blow hurricane I’m walking against the wind and I can’t feel no pain cuz I’m holding on to something real tonight. Well the floods came up as the rain poured down, they held each other close and there was chaos all around and when the sun came up they were holding each other tight. Singing blow, blow, hurricane bring on your wind and bring on your rain. Ain’t you gonna put up more of a fight? Blow, blow, hurricane I’m walking against the wind and I can’t feel no pain cuz I’m holding on to something real tonight.