Walking Shoes

This time I'm walking to New Orleans
I'm walking to New Orleans
I'm gonna need two pair of shoes
When I get through walking the blues
When I get back to New Orleans - Fats Domino

Monica and I parked in a free lot
in front of Jackson's Brewery,
a short walk from The Gold Mine.
We were ready for dancing and fun
on a hot June night in New Orleans.
I tightened my worn tennis shoes.

In front of Jackson's Brewery.
"Make sure the door is locked."
I shuffled and two-stepped around the lot
anxious to get walking.
Ready to drink and mingle,
I was a compressed spring.

A short distance from The Gold Mine,
we were really just three streets away.
Decatur to Dumaine to Dauphine.
The crooked dirty D Streets
rolled beneath our fast feet.
We kicked aside newspapers and empty beer cans.

We were ready for dancing and fun.
Kelli and her boyfriend were going to meet us
at OZ down on Bourbon so we took a quick detour.
We walked down a cobble stoned alley,
pushed through a creaky half door
and bellied up to the bar for drag night.

On a hot June night in New Orleans,
party boys swaying and prancing wasn't our thing,
so we made a run for the door.
The Gold Mine was packed with people
as we writhed and shimmied in the heat
of a small crowded dance floor.

I tightened my worn tennis shoes,
foot on the brass rail of the bar,
and thought how great this night was.
Then we followed my tired but content feet
as they wandered back to dance some more.

Cause I'm walking to New Orleans
I've got no time for talking
I've got to keep on walking - Fats Domino