Music. New Orleans. Bourbon Street. An old man, with a harsh face, his breath reeking with alcohol, somewhat with crippled walk (a portion of one leg missing), an ape like walk, and ape like agility, he stops by a young man walking the opposite way. He moves up closer to the young man's face. The old man's eyes are wild looking, but not threatening. He has a crutch, and he seems to be more athletic than he really is. He is still to the youth, a mystery. A closer look at the young man, we see he is in his twenties. It is fall, and he has a long cloak on, tightly around him. The old man now exercises his crutch taking it from under his armpit, he which now seemingly he is using it as a kind of a prophet's staff, moving it about, and keeping his balance quite well. He has kind of a coffin-shaped forehead. He looks down to think, to put his words he is going to use, together; he's got the young man's attention.



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