My friend B has a little place to go when she needs to clear her mind. She calls it her "garret," and like the little artists' hideaways of story and song, it is an attic room, up among the rooftops of the old French Quarter near Jackson Square.
B lives in a nice double shotgun in the Marigny now, but she keeps her garret for the use of family and friends who come to visit. She showed it to me yesterday. Just off a tiny alley near St. Louis Cathedral, you climb a narrow, winding staircase up to the top of the building.
|B on her deck|
Wouldn't you like to hideaway in such a lovely little place?