Next time you're in Shreveport, I want you to walk down Fannin St. And pay close attention to the ghost of the old bluesmen sitting on the porches of the torn down shotgun houses.
Mike tells me they're not there anymore they only exist in the words on this page, like the leaves they have been scattered by the wind. They are wisp of smoke now, from the cigarettes of the working girls.
Imagine that a light warm rain is falling as you pass the juke joints of days gone. Stop in at the Freemen and Harris cafe and walk on in like you have been eating gumbo since you were a small child.
And when the waitress says, "Come on in sugar!" inviting you as if you were a member of her family, take the closest seat, and watch the downtown politicos wheel and deal. If I were you, I'd order the stuffed shrimp and an Ice cold beer.
Belly full, feet rested and tired of that, venture back out into the hot summer air. Even though Leadbelly is gone, you can still feel his spirit sing, "Good Night Irene."