when: March 11, 2011 // 9:00 p.m.
where: outside St. Louis Cathedral
what: first encounters
Josh Bennett sat against the wall just out of the main entrance to the church, one hand wrapped in one strap of his battered backpack, the one he'd stolen from the student center at UNO nearly a year ago. It was filled with everything he owned, bits and pieces he'd picked up here and there, and it had a dirty denim jacket tied to the shoulder strap he wasn't holding. In his opinion it wasn't quite chilly enough to put it on. It was about fifty-five degrees fahrenheit, and Josh's normal body temperature ran at 101.6 so, needless to say, he rarely found the New Orleans weather truly cold.
He wasn't sure what he wanted to do. The cathedral, where he often hid despite the fact that it was filled with tourists during the day, was locked, and it was too early to find someplace to sleep. At nine p.m., the Quarter was still bursting with energy, lights, music and the scents of fried seafood and steaming hot, powdered-sugar covered beignets from Cafe du Monde. He could try to shoplift something from one of the food stands or a store, but he was tired and didn't have the energy to run if he happened to be caught. He could go try to wash in the public restroom down by the riverboat landing, but at this time of night, it was usually particularly unsavory. He could wander down Bourbon Street and listen to the raucous music, maybe catch sight of someone's naked tits as the doors to the various girlie bars opened and closed.
Too many decisions, and he didn't like it, so he continued to sit, one hand on his pack and his knees pulled up to his chest. He looked pale, not especially clean and at least a couple years younger than his almost-twenty-two. There were eleven more days until his birthday, not that birthdays meant all that much to him anymore. He was alone in one of the most vibrant-- and crime-ridden-- cities in the United States, and he had been since he was seventeen. He should be used to it by now.
where: outside St. Louis Cathedral
what: first encounters
Josh Bennett sat against the wall just out of the main entrance to the church, one hand wrapped in one strap of his battered backpack, the one he'd stolen from the student center at UNO nearly a year ago. It was filled with everything he owned, bits and pieces he'd picked up here and there, and it had a dirty denim jacket tied to the shoulder strap he wasn't holding. In his opinion it wasn't quite chilly enough to put it on. It was about fifty-five degrees fahrenheit, and Josh's normal body temperature ran at 101.6 so, needless to say, he rarely found the New Orleans weather truly cold.
He wasn't sure what he wanted to do. The cathedral, where he often hid despite the fact that it was filled with tourists during the day, was locked, and it was too early to find someplace to sleep. At nine p.m., the Quarter was still bursting with energy, lights, music and the scents of fried seafood and steaming hot, powdered-sugar covered beignets from Cafe du Monde. He could try to shoplift something from one of the food stands or a store, but he was tired and didn't have the energy to run if he happened to be caught. He could go try to wash in the public restroom down by the riverboat landing, but at this time of night, it was usually particularly unsavory. He could wander down Bourbon Street and listen to the raucous music, maybe catch sight of someone's naked tits as the doors to the various girlie bars opened and closed.
Too many decisions, and he didn't like it, so he continued to sit, one hand on his pack and his knees pulled up to his chest. He looked pale, not especially clean and at least a couple years younger than his almost-twenty-two. There were eleven more days until his birthday, not that birthdays meant all that much to him anymore. He was alone in one of the most vibrant-- and crime-ridden-- cities in the United States, and he had been since he was seventeen. He should be used to it by now.