The very few friends I had, would nickname Blackstar- because I rarely went out in public. I would always carry around with me a dark-case' containing a brass-horn-- blowing it every chance I could get. My favorite time to play the instrument was at dawn, inside Jackson Square. I would make rooster-sounds' with it-- which echoed all throughout the Vieux Carre'. The high-pitch notes' would startle the pigeons, and Willie, a local buggy-driver-- sleeping in his red-cart. He always wore a vintage-suit with a top-hat-- and would shout out, "this is what they're going to bury me in." The square slowly comes into focus, as the spectrum of light' enhances the vibrant-colors' of the historic-backdrop. By 10:15 a.m., outlines begin to mesh: the red, white, and blue flag' stiffens- above the tarnish war-horse . The crosses on top of the cathedral' can barely be seen- due to haze. The commuters are in full force, as they gondola-- acr...