Last night docked in New Iberia, it was hotter than a stolen tamale in the devil’s lunchbox. 90° at midnight, 250% humidity, and air as still as a corpse. Even with a fan pointed straight at me, my cozy loft bed felt like punishment.
Around 5 AM, I gave up. Came down, took a sponge bath, brushed my teeth, stared into the middle distance. But it was a few degrees cooler downstairs in the shantyboat. I cranked up the big electric fan, threw a couple blankets on the couch, and was lulled back to sleep by Democracy Now! whispering leftist dreams in my ears.
Somewhere in that half-sleep, the heat broke—brief but serious rain. When I finally woke, it was to a cool, dramatic sunrise. I motored under the Bridge Street bridge toward my appointment with destiny: a personal welcome from the mayor, and visit to the small but charming Farmer’s Market, and a lovely crowd gathered at Felicité’s Landing for our pop-up exhibition.
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