Picture Man

New Orleans, Louisiana.  French Quarter. 1994.

I was sitting on a porch (stoop) off the main path in the early evening one night.  An older black gentleman strolled by and said as a greeting, “You know, life is funny.  Just have to get the joke."  And that, my friends, is where our adventure starts.

We chatted for a bit about me, the girl, what brought us to here in this world.  He suggested we get a pint of vodka and he would show us HIS French Quarter.  He was Armond.  The Picture Man of Bourbon Street.

He would take Polaroid pics of the drunk people (mostly) visiting Bourbon, cut them into a circle and put them in round keychains.  He performed this spectacular feet for  five bucks a shot.

Turns out he had a master’s degree in sociology but liked being picture man instead of using his schooling.  Armond stopped and pointed out an old French Quarter residence.  Apparently he would have a friend point at a house, take a picture, and sell it to tabloids with some story of haunting.

This dude had it made, in my opinion.  Master’s Degree and refusing to plug into the world that admires degrees.  Success not a guarantee.  But working toward it gets you further than sitting on your ass, figuratively.  I wanted to do it.  Get the letters and work and make a name.  Find significance. On that day in New Orleans I wished my name was Picture Man.   But I went back to school instead.

Part II of this story will be posted next Tuesday.  Too long for one document.  Be safe.  Be well, and be kind.  Kev loves ya. 

Wrote a song about it. Here's the link.