The Road South
The gray stretch of I-5 slowly turned the color of sand, and by the time we merged onto I-10, even the accents on the radio had begun to change. The scent of pine gave way to the damp salt of the Gulf. The iced coffee from roadside gas stations grew sweeter the farther we drove. Noah kept time on the steering wheel while I read and reread my grandmother’s letter. The silence between the lines felt like a new heartbeat, and with each page I turned, I could feel my pulse aligning with hers.
The Blue Sign’s Shadow
When we arrived in New Orleans that night, the air clung to my skin, heavy and wet. At the corner of Basin Street, a faded sign of a blue bird dangled. The bar had long been closed. Yet beside the rusted door hung a tiny padlock marked #12. The key in my palm seemed to leap toward it. Click. A light sound. But the door didn’t budge. Then Noah noticed the sign’s back panel sticking out slightly. He pressed his fingers against it, and the board shifted, revealing a small, dark hollow within.
