The reddish moon shines full and bright overhead. Nicholas and Serena hold
hands and creep through St. Louis Cemetery. Tombs rise around them, casting
silver shadows on the dark grass.

"We should have found it first in the day time," Serena whispers. They are
looking for Marie Laveau's grave.

The two hear a sudden hissing sound and freeze. A snake? No...it is human.
They hear it again, this time a "pssst" followed by, "Hey man. You need
something? What you need?"

A figure moves in the shadows behind a tall stone, and Nicholas and Serena
run, holding hands, running in the same direction with no hesitation, no
pulling or tugging. They run and run, past crypts and trees. Breathing hard.
They slow, then stop.

"I don't hear anyone."

"Neither do I."

"Why did we run so long?"

"I don't know. Was that hophead really gonna chase us?"

They giggle. They sit down on a wide stone slab. Mist rises around them, fog
from the wet earth that inspired the above ground crypts, the boggy soil that
refused to contain bodies. Nicholas' hair is forming Greek-statue ringlets in
the steamy night air. Fear brings a rush of adrenaline, and the two look at
one another, shaking, pulses leaping hard.

They kiss.

They fall back on the stone slab, Nicholas on his back, Serena lying over
him. Her palms and forearms rub against the stone that is cold, damp and
mossy. The lovers hear a moan, but neither recognizes it as the other's.
Serena lifts her head and squints over the top of their hard bed.

A woman is lying in a heap on the ground, wedged between the stone slab and
an ornate vault that rises toward the sky. Serena's eyes focus; she can see
the figure in the moonlight. The woman is so skinny that Serena can see the
details of bones through flesh. Her hair is tied back with what looks like a
tattered lace bra into a ratted mass atop her head. Her t-shirt is ripped and
soiled, her jeans far too big. She is barefoot, and a pair of muddy tennis
shoes lies near her feet. One hand rests on her stomach; one arm is thrown
over her head. Her skin is ashy, almost translucent. Her cheekbones are high,
and somehow her lips are still full.

Nicholas turns over to see what Serena is staring at.

"Should we get help?" Serena asks.

Then they see the needles, the crumbling band of rubber. The woman's eyes
open. She smiles, and a low hiss comes out of her mouth in place of a laugh.

Nicholas and Serena are running again, this time out of the cemetery instead
of farther in. They don't stop until they're on Rampart. They stand under a
street lamp, gasping.

"I'm glad I'm not a junkie."

"I'm glad I'm not dead."

They laugh the mirth of the near-damned. Serena cries a little. Nicholas hugs
her.

"You have grave dust on your dress," he says.

He brushes off her legs, gently. They walk down Esplanade, under the giant
live oaks, to Checkpoint Charlie's. They order Chartreuse with gin and soda.
All the members of Shame of the City have actually managed to show up in the
same place at the same time with all their instruments. Nicholas and Serena
request "Midnight Special," and they dance together while the jangly, bluesy,
growly-voiced music plays.

END

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