Two:
Northeast of the city lay the Port of New Orleans. A veritable sea of sailor white and navy-blue unfurrow ahead of me. Patrick was waiting for me with what smelt like blood and coffee in his hand.
Patrick wore large-framed dark shades. His tan and aggravated red shin bespoke the mild allergies playing up from constant day exposure. He’d stubbornly worked day shifts of late. Patrick refused to allow me to pull strings and get him only night shifts. Patrick was half-Chitimacha, the self-same tribe Native-Americans Aurelia’s Lycan tribe was interconnected with. Only, he had cobalt-blue eyes and slightly fairer hair, due to his white father.
“Oye, how’s the circus kicking off?”
I asked by way of greeting, and Patrick grunted at my approaching form.
“Loads of folks all milling about
