“I heard a tune from Aaron Neville floating out of someone's window on the other end of the street. I could tell it was him from the trembling, angelic quality of the voice. I'm no music connoisseur, but once you hear something like that you never forget it.
That was the thing about New Orleans. Even in the morning, with the city all quiet like it was now, you could do something as simple as turning a corner and you might find someone weeping, or someone singing, or praying, or laughing hysterically, or harming or charming someone else. It took getting used to.”