Sex dating in vestry mississippi dating dark city tv
That long hair stands on end as the creature arches as tall as he can as my bigger dog spots him — I am having trouble convincing that dog that we are not on a hunt and that the neighbor’s cat is not our quarry.Most mornings, though, it is just us, no other creature with hair on its head or body.The crowd hooted and hollered when Hillary laughed at the lies falling out of the sad old man’s mouth, and when he insulted her personally, we all gasped, and the ladies of color shouted in unison, “Oh, no he didn’t!” But her simple remark, that while he was out on the road bloviating, she had not only prepared for the debate but had prepared to be president of the United States — well, that was worth the price of pizza alone.We are not vampires on the prowl, but some of us smell blood. We enter the house as a few neighbors begin to stir, switch on lights. Over and over again Anne Rice’s interviewed vampire expresses frustration at his inability to explain an experience to the interviewer.When I unhook the leashes of my companions, we are all covered in sweat. He laments, “How pathetic it is to describe these things that can’t truly be described.” He is right, Rice is right — a night in New Orleans contains a kind of mystery that only beckons one toward meaning, a seduction not quite achieved, a new vision through a glass darkly, and the aporia is a dark river, perhaps the Mississippi at night, perhaps the Styx, that beckons us deeper but offers us no promise we can ever again pop our heads up into a rational sunlight.The sight of an ex-mistress isn’t devastating to a grown-up woman; it makes us taste the copper of blood rage in our mouths. I got a fan handed to me by a woman running for judge. New Orleans provides enough vivacity to transform us all, not necessarily into vampires but certainly into raconteurs. I choose this time because I leave for work quite early, and my dogs have fewer people to bark at or to try to sniff. At that hour, even at that hour, it has been well above eighty degrees outside most mornings, and the town glows despite the lights being off.
What women saw in this was an incomprehension of our individual dignity, and he looked like he was just being absurdly bitchy. He says, “When I saw the moon on the flagstones, I became so enamored with it that I must have spent an hour there….We are not hunting for prey, neither like a dog nor like a vampire.We are just walking, losing our ways in the lovely late night.What they read there, I cannot say, but the ineffable language of the smells of this route excites them, sometimes appearing to cause debate between them.It is a lively hunt for the maker of smells, the walk, the quarrry not so much being the steak as much as the sizzle-sound of the bugs and the smoke of the frying meat they find the trace of in our tracks. Not Anne Rice’s vampires, perhaps, but with her vampires’ New Orleans nights, heady and astonishingly beautiful.