Every minute felt like an hour, but in a good way, a really good way. Not a Friday afternoon at the office way. I was plugged in to my ipod, blasting Terence Blanchard's Malcolm X Jazz Suite. I stumbled on a Mayday protest at the park. The "Day without Immigrants" they called it. Illegal workers all over the country had skipped off work to protest. I snapped some pictures.


Afterwards, I went back to Cafe du Monde and had the inside of the cafe all to myself. It was a Monday morning and I guess everyone was back to work or on planes heading home. Beignets, covered in icing sugar. Pretty soon, no beignets and me, covered in incing sugar. Iced latte with chickory. Refreshing, comforting, soothing. This? This I could do all day. This is perfection.


I was joined a few tables over, by some ladies who worked at the cafe, having an early lunch.

At this point I realized even though I'd had a completely self indulgent day and it wasn't even noon yet, I felt as though I had accomplished more than I sometimes do in an entire week at home. What is that about? Today, I realized that I've spent a year trying to recapture that feeling here at home. I know what that's about. I know I'll never do it either, but I don't think that will stop me from trying.