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Dance of Light
Summer brass as second sun.
Light in New Orleans does not stay still. It slides down French Quarter stucco, argues with Mardi Gras paint, finds Jackson Square and makes the stone sweat.
Jazz is how the sun learns to move here — not straight, not polite.
Second lines borrow the beam. You walk inside the glare until your shadow forgets which way is north.
Day turns to night without asking permission.
The light keeps dancing after the band packs up.
JV · Dark Heart Labs