Pennypaperbrain: eldritch-horrors: Plans for Penny’s visit:Outdoor gun range with an... 
Plans for Penny’s visit:
Outdoor gun range with an introduction to the beauty of the FAL. There will also be skeet shooting. Since she is a newbie we will be omitting the glow-in-the-dark skeet shooting and accompanying hallucinogens.
Alligator preserve tour that includes…
I want to suggest beignets at Café du Monde just to see if E-H’s eyeroll can break the Internet.
once upon a time, there lived the city of new orleans.
and while there have lived hundreds, thousands, millions upon millions of cities (built on the failures and foundations of millions of others), there is only one city as immortal as it is young; and that city is new orleans.
(there is danger here, and death: a district of gardens where bibliophiles are pulled into cars and pulled apart and left, bleeding and broken and resolute, at the front steps of their priceless and pristine homes. a city that offers no quarter but one, and takes no prisoners but you. tread lightly. ask nothing. offer all. thank everyone. and take it all back.)
deep in an alley, so close to the bright lights of the world that your eyes smart at the edges, is a kitchen, a wall, and a row of windows. decades of powdered sugar heaped like regret, keeping everything below hidden from view. prying eyes—yours, mine—indulged, but only a short while. so look close. press your toes against the old road and raise your sights to the glass. there he is: the man you did not know you were here to see, the man you will remember all your life. he has the heart of the city hard in his mouth, and tattoos climbing-crawling over him, bleeding bougainvillea, thick. he’s taller than myth and blacker than jazz and twice as wide as the deep steel sink.
he’s handling liquid fire.
watch him pull a beignet, two, three, twenty, from the boiling oil. he wears no gloves. he holds no tongs.
his hands are the most beautiful things you have ever seen.
watch him toss them out to drain dry, leaving half their ills behind, soaked into the paper. his mouth moves a measure a minute, words and grunts and deep-cave laughter spilling from him eager and inaudible behind the glass. watch him watch the busboy, the waitress (with her eyes high and tight, her shoes unforgiving), the dishwasher with another life so ready to be squeezed out that she bends herself like a willow to reach the white plates. in this, the hottest, heaviest city since god razed sodom, watch him stand before the boiling oil, and never spare it a glance.
watch him feel your eyes, though it’s dark and past dark, and the kitchen lights are bright. watch him pause, and stare, and know your presence; watch him nod, his hands never stilling in their movements. watch him work. watch him feed thousands.
once upon a time, there lived the city of new orleans.
tread closely. look quickly. taste everything. forget nothing.
Jesus, Nympheline.



