"It was the summer of 1969. I remember 'cause the heat was relentless. I mean there’s nothing like a good old hot humid day in New Orleans but that year hell was sitting over the city. True summer. The wind never stopped blowing. Never gave us a break. The wind picked and tore at us until finally that child of hell spawned off the coast of West Africa arrived. Now that I think about it what an appropriate place for its birth. Before it came I guess the wind had to start from somewhere. Out over the murky green water of the Gulf I think. It blew hate. Hate is a powerful thing and the air was full of it that summer. That wind blew north using up all the heat and hate a wind can hold. The humidity chokes you. Its a furnace blast strong enough to drive all the way to the Dakotas. The weather man says the humid heat creates storms but I think they’re wrong. I think it’s really the hate that fires the thunderstorms in the winds wake. Really, I know it is.
I hear that northerners complain about summer. You know what I’d tell’m is, just come a little closer. Closer to the Gulf. I mean, try Houston, maybe Orlando or shit; just come on down to New Orleans. What use to be my loving home. At least you can party there. Not like I was much of a party guy but what I just didn’t know was there’d be no party that summer. Nope. You see, I was living in a genuine ghost story. The whole city was. We all just didn’t know it yet."
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