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Fires
Passion as city heat, not metaphor alone.
Fire in New Orleans is not always disaster. Sometimes it is chicory and a room where the trumpet makes the body forget its landlord.
Passion here runs on ancestry — Congo Square in the blood, French Quarter in the laugh, the kind of want that does not ask permission nicely.
Keep it is too simple. Accurate is tend — knowing the blaze also cooks and also scars.
The cup stays hot after the band leaves.
JV · Dark Heart Labs