I always wondered if other cities were like New Orleans. If other kids did what I did, if they had family like my family. I mean, this place has a reputation, but I'm sure its nothing like living in Las Vegas, or New York. Maybe growing up here makes people a bit more darker than others, more...creepy. Not that I was like that. Of course, now is another matter... But there's nothing remarkable about my mortal life. I was raised by my mom, a tough-talking broad, and my Nana, a half-Creole, half-Sicilian nut case. If my brain ever turns to mush, I'll know who's side of the family to blame. As for dad, well, there is no dad. Not one back then, anyway. And there's Lucky, my half-wit younger brother. poor tyke suffers from Asperger's Disorder, a form of autism. He was fun to watch though, creating crayon masterpieces before eating the paper like candy. It wasn't too rough, even though Mom was always working and Nana kept to her room most of the time, so it was me and Lucky and the Big Easy. But we got around okay, and was always home for dinner. But after that...

I just couldn't sleep. There was so much you could miss at night, if you were in bed snoring away. Night is when the cool stuff comes out to play, when the best movies are on cable, and most importantly, not as many people to bother you. Those that are around are, you know, your kind of people. When Mom was tucked away in the room she shared with Nana, I'd sneak out of our Baronne Street apartment and hit the city with my friends. We were your typical teenage crowd. Desperate, frustrated, depressed, mad at the world, and scared of it. We did things to prove ourselves, like drinking and piercing. We moaned over our simple, pathetic ideas about God, society, the government, life. I liked it, I felt justified in my beliefs. I figured there was a God, and so far He hadn't done anything too rotten to me yet, so maybe I just was on the fringe of his radar, staying out of His wrath as long as I covered my tracks. I figured I just wasn't one of God's kind of people, and He let me be.  I got along okay, until Mom died. Hit by a drunk driver while walking from Job 1 to Job 2. Just like that, she was gone. Lucky and me were left with Nana, but at 78 what good would that do us? I was 17, and suddenly everything changed. I had to make sure we ate, and that my grandma and brother had their medication. I had to watch them both, and for 9 months I just withered away. How Mom had done it, I don't know. I was failing miserably, and then when Nana had her stroke and was gone too, I just didn't care anymore. I let the state take Lucky, and I spent four months in a boy's home until I reached 18. And then, I was alone.

I bummed around. What else could I do? I begged for spare change, smoke butts from cafe ashtrays, and did any substance I could get my hands on. I ripped of gas stations and markets for food and smokes, I wore my clothes until they smelled too bad to be worn in public any more. Sometimes I crashed at random apartments, or squat spots, or if I went in with other people, one of the local hostels. At night, I roamed the city, or hung out at coffee shops and arcades. Then I met Rico, a street missionary for the Street Sweep group. They go around, handing out sandwiches and pamphlets. Sometimes they bring clothes, or bus passes. It was a puzzle to me, how someone who looked and acted like Rico would be so religious. But he never pressed, and maybe that's why I got so involved with the group. Eventually I was crashing at the headquarters by day and making rounds with Rico at night, telling other kids where to go for food, or beds, or clinics.

Rico always said I was too wise for my own good, and it wasn't clear if that was a critique or a compliment. I'd just seen so much, you know? My mom struggling to make a better life for everyone, then getting slammed by a drunk. Lucky, locked inside his own world, never knowing what we put up with, just to keep him happy. And Nana, spewing out scripture to the neighbors but praying to candles and incense at night, reaching out to any God that would help rise her brood from despair. The streets were harsh, cold, and abusive. Drugs were numbing torture masters. Yet I could see something in all that blackness, something reserved just for me. Maybe I loved the night because while everyone else was blind, I could clearly see just what lay on the other side of the shadows: possibilities. Life is full of endless possibilities, when the real world isn't blocking your view with stock quotes, utility bills, or lunch hours. I figured there had to be something worth it all. Why else would this, the world, even be here? And one night, Rico said we weren't going out on our rounds. He were going to meet a very important woman, and I was going to "see the light". And that's how I met Rachel, the one who would change everything.