Louisiana Flair

I moved to Grace Street in the ‘90s. Actually, "moved" is the wrong word. I was compelled to Grace Street – a shy, sheltered dropout called by the volubility of its blocks.

Some of the now gone businesses that sang a siren’s song were: a Greek topless bar draped in red; a watering hole that specialized in flaming coffee drinks served under a tightrope of birds; two theatres, one X-rated and one urban – the Carpenter Center, where I "volunteer" bartended amidst the sounds of Puccini and Gospel. But, what called me most of all, was Grace Street’s architecture of decay and promise.

After last call with a Wiley vampire at The Village Cafe, I’d walk mornings down Grace Street, towards downtown, peeking into the windows of abandoned pharmacies, their lunch counters still intact, then cross a few blocks to the library before my shift at The Red Door.

In the ‘90s, it seemed that I, like Grace Street, had nothing but time.

Now I walk the 300 block of East Grace Street less often, but when I do, I delight (Full review)