In New Orleans, I
remember seeing cemetery cockroaches thriving by moonlight cutting our
paths portentously as any black-cat. Those were some happy, fat roaches
munching on the regal dead of the regal city. The trees held on to what
they believed . . .
I don't have direct contact with the river, but I would like to offer
my humble resources (i.e., places to stay, guide to local corruption,
cynical cracks of wit's whip).