| Beale Street I walk through the street, the wind blows my hair into a halo of gold, and it ties snarls as it whispers in my ears. My green eyes shift from left to right as a Cheshire cat smile plays on cherry lips I take in the warm night. A muffled �pop� on my ear tells me about the bubbles, blown from a voodoo shop�s roof. They float down to me like orbs of snow, iridescent in the street lights, slide from blue to green to purple. I laugh, a trickle of sound like a slow fountain. A man totters on unsteady feet, a blue starter cap as lop sided as his walk covers hair that once was blond but now is brown. He asks for a hug as I dance away with wide eyes and a shake of my head. Buy a rose! Red roses are pushed under my nose the musky scent overlays the liquor that wafts from the vendor�s clothes, a blue and green plaid shirt the shoulder torn like a knife wound, and soft dirt covered blue jeans. A psychic beckons with one long finger, her tar black hair hangs around her hips in a smear of darkness against her pale green dress. Crystal earrings catch the neon pink lights and throw light as she motions her head. Let me tell you about your future. I nod but keep walking to a cluster of bodies that makes way for the last big flip of the street performer, who bounces back for a toe touch, and runs a hand over his tight black hair. An old man with peppered hair leans over his guitar caresses it like a baby and croons a lullaby. Good morning, little school girl, can I go home with you? Tell your momma and your daddy that I�m a little schoolboy too. oh oh ohh-y. I pause where the blues floats and crashes into �Jingle Bell Rock� played from the Hard Rock Caf� one buildings away , the two sounds mix together �til they can�t be torn apart. |