Misunderstanding

An unintentional, adult version of the Telephone game just made this session even more fun! During the New Orleans Writing Marathon, small groups visit various spots in New Orleans to stop and write. I wrote with groups in an art gallery, Congo Square and many restaurants and bars! At one point, a group of us ducked into the Fives Bar to wait out a summer storm.

I watched Glenn shuck oysters while opening the Shazam app. The playlist was stellar but I didn’t recognize this one. We sampled tuna crudo and sipped our cocktails. I learned that the song I was enjoying was “Hunger for a Way Out,” when the writing prompt came from the far end of the crescent shaped bar.

“Seafood.”
“Did she say “C-word?”
I laugh, take a sip. We can work with this!
“I think she said ‘seafood.'”
“She is eating a plate of oysters.”
“They do kinda smell the same.”
Glenn chuckles. “Oops!” We giggle. “Sorry, Glenn! You’re part of the group, now!”

Crunchy topping on tuna,
cucumber in a Pimm’s cup, though I ordered a Golden Hour.
Crawfish, crabs…

I am feeling crablike. Not crabby. Maybe I identify as a crab. I’m bumpy, scratchy and I pinch my hat and clothes. I’ve been enjoying the steaming pot that is New Orleans but I am a boiled red crab, not a soft pale potato.
I do feel like a twice-baked potato! I’m so full! I couldn’t finish all of my breakfast at the Clover Grill! We only walked for a few minutes before the rains moved us indoors, not enough to walk it all off. Now I sit facing raw oysters and enjoying seafood treats. No crab yet but I feel like a boiled crab, a twice-baked potato. A seafood-stuffed potato!
I am a moveable feast.