A street performer folds himself over an orange amp as the crowd leans in before the cathedral, and one small girl in red can't wait for the trick.
Fallen leaves gather on a water meter cover.The Easter parade inches through the French Quarter, hats and lace and outstretched hands reaching from every side of the car.
A woman in a pink bunny suit beams at the camera, curlers peeking out.
Behind a wrought iron gate, a pink door and a painted pair of red lips.An old man in a hood plays saxophone under the gallery, eyes half closed.
Mardi Gras beads hang from a picket fence in front of a pink and purple cottage.
A green door in a faded pink wall.The Easter parade fills the street from wall to wall, bunny ears and pink wigs everywhere.
A man with a cane walks Bourbon Street as the neon comes on. There are old souls that walk these roads.
Weathered fingers on the keys of a gold saxophone.A street magician works the crowd on Jackson Square's flagstones.
A violinist plays in a gallery doorway on Royal Street, eyes closed. Filling the air with tender music for those few willing to listen.
A boy in a blue hoodie drums on an upturned bucket against a salmon wall.A scarlet macaw spreads its wings from its perch.
Flower crowns, bunny ears and bright wigs fill the street for the Easter parade.
A soul stuck out of time leans against a vintage car. Face to the sky, she challenges the sun.A painted rose blooms out of layers of peeling yellow paint.
A chandelier drips with a thousand crystals like golden rain.
An Elvis in a pompadour and gold chains leads the way, bunny ears bobbing all around him.Iron balconies and potted plants line a French Quarter facade in coral and gold.
Friends sit in the open garage of a pink thrift shop, guitars on the wall behind them.
Four plush bunnies ride the grille of a flame-painted dune buggy.A bottle in a paper bag rests on the sill beneath green shutters.
An iron wheel leans against a marble tomb, its French inscriptions worn soft.
An angel keeps watch over the tombs in a cemetery of whitewashed stone.A painted river runs down the middle of a courtyard hung with shutters, signs and a canoe.
St. Louis Cathedral fades into the fog until only its spires remain.
A red lipstick kiss on a white wall.A lantern glows red and green against old brick.
Graffiti covers every wall of an empty courtyard, 100% TRUMP scrawled in the middle.
A rider leans from his float toward the sidewalk, where every hand is up and every neck is heavy with beads.A gilded chair waits against a bright blue wall beside a painted door, a throne for whoever claims it.
A single drainpipe runs down a weathered brick wall, the light slanting across it.
Brass gears turn behind the glass of an old clock.A young woman reads by the streetcar window, the light falling across her page.
A thrift shop corner of army jackets, a gilt eagle mirror and a basket of mannequin legs.
The Natchez waits at the dock, flags flying, the whole boat mirrored in a puddle.A weathered door, its number carved into the wood: 1115.
Chains, clocks and framed pictures crowd the walls of a thrift shop courtyard.
A woman in red rests on the curb beneath a mural that says Relax.Ivy swallows a brick wall nearly whole.
A woman in a green coat walks past a ladder as the work goes on overhead.
AIGHT!, scrawled across a cracked wall, as if in answer to the broken dumpster below.A palm frond fans out in every shade of green.
A rust-red fence and the clouds above it, doubled in a rain puddle.
Drips of white paint run down a red and gray wall.A girl rides her father's shoulders above the crowd.
The headlight of an old pink Beetle, dented and dusty.
Keep New Orleans Funky, says the sign nailed to the pole outside a blue building.A bearded man in a rhinestone jumpsuit walks beside a monkey riding the car.
Bunny ears ride the hood of the lead car as it inches through the Easter crowd.
Beads fly from a float into a street full of raised hands.Two boys pose against the salmon wall, one fanning a handful of tip money.
A tiny fountain garden climbs a brick wall hung with lattice and found things.
A man in a striped polo stops to think, drink in hand, in front of a strip club window.A fire hydrant stands in front of a wall covered floor to roof in paint.
The streetcar conductor at the controls, the green of St. Charles Avenue out the window.
The steamboat Natchez churns up the Mississippi past the broken pilings.The riverfront fence stretches off in a line, the whole sky reflected at its feet.
A turquoise shutter against pale yellow clapboard.
A narrow alley runs back under red lanterns, murals on both walls.Three boys drum on buckets and crates on the sidewalk, sticks in motion.
Gator on a Stick, $7.50, says the sign in the French Market.
Two Mardi Gras doubloons on the asphalt, one gold and one silver, stamped Kings and Queens.An ornamental cabbage opens in ruffles of magenta.
Think that you might be wrong, says the sign on the telephone pole.
