Ahhh, printemps in New Orleans, printemps in New Bjork! Such joy, such bounteous pulchritude, such not-awfulness of meteorological conditions! Not to deny the appeal of printemps in my beloved Santa Fe, but the wind, Gentle Reader(s), the wind! The near constant gale force gusts blasting eastwards out of Arizona can begin to mess with yo haid after a while, so in recent years I have resolved to put thee behind me, Satanic zephyrs, and decamp to Ink South. This year I decided to append my southern sojourn with a trip to the Big City, the lure of inexpensive non-stop flights from Louis Armstrong International to LaGuardia being too attractive to resist. So, after the numbing two-day excursion across half of New Mexico, all of Texas, and three quarters of Louisiana, I hitched up on Laurel Street and settled in for about ten days before heading north.