Such sweet thunder and the ornithology of gossamer wings, and there is a howlin´ wolf at the stairway to the stars, trading fours and flatted fifths in Nica's dream, and I take 5 and the A train to be somewhere over the Rainbow room - I cover the waterfront to watch a slow boat to Cantaloupe Island, and suddenly I hear a yard bird sing in Berkeley Square which knows all about the Blues and the abstract truth, and strange fruit and fables of Faubus are just tales from a long forgotten time...
Do you know what it means to miss New Orleans?
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