I wanted to say that there is a certain beauty to these urban landscapes: fallen down fences and colorful plastic bags floating on the carbon monoxide wafting off the Crescent City Connection. Surely there was something here before the overgrown weeds and concrete and rusted tin cans. Something after the swamp and before the Industrial Revolution. Maybe this is where voodoo priestesses danced, spitting blood and alcohol. Or maybe the Cajuns hunted for 'coon and 'gator to bring home for supper. In any case, there is no echo of any of that now. There is only this vision inside of my head, and I am pretty sure it is a true dream.