We're staying at the far end of the French Quarter in a condo that is one room with added-on bathroom and veranda, not in the same place. It's very old; it smells so. One of the planks in the floor has a concave burn that could cup a baseball. I imagine someone dropping coal or wood there when such things were needed.

To everyone: It's very Interview with the Vampire in this neighborhood. Gaslights flicker night and day, and during the night they are a dim yellow and moving lightedness leaving recesses obscure and opportunistic.

People live here but the gaunt shutters are sealed tight. Broken slats and crooked gaps where old planks lie leak an anachronistic splendor.

Is it because slander travels the curb at all hours?

On the corner is a little store that will serve hot, cooked meals 24 hours a day. You go in there and put up with a little bit of their shit and they'll soften and take you in. The dry goods are expired and odd. The old man there, when asked whether the macaroni and cheese was good, said it was, and, pointing to his belly, added that he wasn't wasting away. Last I saw him, he had retreated to the far back of the store and was chopping small vegetables.

The first conference has ended. What we say in the field is that "We learned a lot."

I got two days before the next one starts.