(no subject)
The doorman hails him a cab outside and he tells the driver to take him to the airport. He runs his hand over his face and stares out the window, seeing the city through the rain-speckled windows. His mind drifts, trying to figure out what happened back at the bar.
“You all right, sir?”
“What?” He then realizes what the cabbie asked. “I’m not sure.”
“You been staying at that hotel?”
“No. I just stopped in.”
“Was you looking for her?”
“Her? What do you mean?”
“Nothing, sir.”
“No, go on - looking for who?” He leans up close to the glass the separates the front seat from the back.
“That place is haunted. Used to have people looking for the ghost.”
“Haunted? Really?” He wonders if he saw a ghost.
“Yes, sir. Been haunted for years and years. Before Katrina. Even before Betsy.”
“What do you mean used to have?”
“Not many people coming to ghost hunt. Not many people coming here period.”
The cabbie goes quiet and the man listens to the sound of the wipers on the windshield. He leans back into the seat.
He heard the melancholy in the cabbie’s voice but asks anyway “Who haunts it?”
“Heard stories that say a woman singing for love. Was sort of famous here in town. Some kind of jazz singer. Stories say that if you see her, her beauty will make you lose your mind. Don’t know if that’s true or not. Some say they think they have heard her siren call but few have actually seen her.”
He gulps audibly. “What else do the stories say?”
The cabbie chuckles. “Don’t pay me any mind, sir. There are thousands of ghost stories in the Crescent City.”
“You all right, sir?”
“What?” He then realizes what the cabbie asked. “I’m not sure.”
“You been staying at that hotel?”
“No. I just stopped in.”
“Was you looking for her?”
“Her? What do you mean?”
“Nothing, sir.”
“No, go on - looking for who?” He leans up close to the glass the separates the front seat from the back.
“That place is haunted. Used to have people looking for the ghost.”
“Haunted? Really?” He wonders if he saw a ghost.
“Yes, sir. Been haunted for years and years. Before Katrina. Even before Betsy.”
“What do you mean used to have?”
“Not many people coming to ghost hunt. Not many people coming here period.”
The cabbie goes quiet and the man listens to the sound of the wipers on the windshield. He leans back into the seat.
He heard the melancholy in the cabbie’s voice but asks anyway “Who haunts it?”
“Heard stories that say a woman singing for love. Was sort of famous here in town. Some kind of jazz singer. Stories say that if you see her, her beauty will make you lose your mind. Don’t know if that’s true or not. Some say they think they have heard her siren call but few have actually seen her.”
He gulps audibly. “What else do the stories say?”
The cabbie chuckles. “Don’t pay me any mind, sir. There are thousands of ghost stories in the Crescent City.”