It started in New Orleans in ’94, but back then, I played a fiddle. I had been playing somewhere around Bourbon Street, hat in hand at this point, trying to see straight as people, looking baffled, put money in my case and in my hat. Nothing smaller than twenties, an uncommon occurrence. I started thinking straight the minute I saw the money, it had a really grounding effect in that way. Good thing too because I really needed to get off the street with all this exposed scratch, and fast. I also needed to process what had just happened, it was crazier than absinthe and acid.
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Highway Hanna
“I travel in gardens and bedrooms, basements and attics, around corners, through doorways and windows, along sidewalks, over carpets, down drainpipes, in the sky, with friends, lovers, children and heros; perceived, remembered, imagined, distorted and clarified.” Archives
July 2021
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