You manage to create a request thread today, but it is so taxing that it leaves you drained of all your inspiration for the rest of the month.
I wish I was here: "New Orleans...1951...a bar full of genius players, double dealing, sweet talking players with more on their mind than numbers, converge where the hustlers lay on the sugar thicker than the cheap wine that flows in the back rooms of the gambling halls. Eyes shift to the white girl who is obviously lost, or from out of town. And as soon as the timpani plays and she grabs the microphone, her voice moves her from pariah to princess of the pleasure dome. A coincidence ? No, not really..."