New Orleans is found along the border in hell that divides unpleasant, haunting ghouls and chaotic, animalistic cravings. A city sparked with the thrills of sin yet traced with the eerie sensations of lingering souls already lost to the inevitable endings of their cursed births. Bee-do-bop scats rhythmically pump from the heart through out the veiny streets and flow down the Mississippi waters. Golden brass shines in every reflection. Societal expectations are thrown behind necromantic masks with only piercing lustful eyes of natural desire revealed, just as the misinterpreted, spiritual powers of voodoo dance around freely without fear of conformed ignorance. Dark alleys serve as underworld portals seducing misguided wanderers with the unfaithful and rotting grips of overflowing booze. An artistic array of french foundations stand out elegantly amongst blue skies and captivate ages of cultural convergence as the different elements seemingly melt together effortlessly like in a warm, vivacious bowl of gumbo stew. The bright blessed day and the dark sacred night live symbiotically, a relationship admirably encapsulated in the vibrations sang from Luis’s trumpet.