28 degrees in New Orleans is as cold as -6 degrees in Saint Petersburg. Most of us have opted to stay home. Usually on a Sunday afternoon the streetcar is softly filled with tourists making their way past Saint Charles' homes and oak lined streets. Not today
I am on my way to a birthday party on Saint Louis street. It is a surprise party. I may be late. Punctuality has never been a well groomed commodity of mine.
A young couple reverts their seats so they can look at each other and converse. Otherwise the car is quiet.
It never seems to bothe me, the contemplative nature of public transportation. If only I can always look and feel while I travel. The back of the car is the front and the front is the back. I tend to migrate to the back and look out as the scenery moves
Into the past