23
My breath makes little puffs in the night air as I exit the car. It’s that time of year in New Orleans, the time when one day it’s summer-like and the next it’s freezing cold. I do up another button on my black peacoat as one of the bodyguards leads me into what looks like an abandoned warehouse.
All around me, there is crumbling cement and the remnants of colorful gang tags. While the floors and the walls of the warehouse seem intact, the ceiling definitely isn’t. I can see bright stars through it.
This place definitely hasn’t been touched since Hurricane Katrina.
“Are you sure he wants me to be here?” I ask the bodyguard, looking around. “I really should get back to my brother…”
The bodyguard just shrugs and opens a faded blue metal door. “Ask him yourself.”
That answer sets my
