Feeling quesy from the Big Easy.

 Bourbon Street

New Orleans…is insane.  I should never be allowed to spend three days in a city where you can gamble, drink in the street and eat deep fried sausage.  This post is going to be very short because my hangover is so bad it’s basically a separate entity that’s living inside me.

I did not come up with anything stunning and new to structure this week’s story around.  And I’m very much out of time.  So this week’s story, which is another entry into the world of Matthew and Epp, might come across as out of place or sort of pointless.  There’s no central melody, it’s just a bunch of noise.  Don’t get me wrong, I think it might be very pretty noise, most likely entertaining noise…but there’s no…how do I explain this?

You know when you’re listening to an album and there are some songs that are clearly hits?  They stand on their own perfectly fine?  And then there are songs that are less self contained, they’re nice and all but listening to them out of the context of the album seems odd.  They really only work best when the whole album is taken into account.  I think this story will be like one of those songs.

Of course, I have no idea what might happen once I get into the thick of things so I should probably just shut up and go write.