The Fear of Tides- Martin Pousson

When we return to the Cafe du Monde, we'll find no one speaks English anymore - a language too heavy for a sinking city. When we return to eat beignets after dark, speaking Old French, the table will be overcast with clouds of powdered sugar. Beads of mist will spray from the river, sparkle the lampglow of the cafe, and the air will fill with the umming confession that we are too much like the city we live in. Unimpressed by the roar of mosquitoes, the buzz of hurricanes, we'll sit in wrought-iron chairs at the Cafe du Monde and no one will leave, not even when we hear the Mississippi is swelling. No one in New Orleans wonders aloud if the city will sink, no one mentions the fear of tides. Polite as anyone, neither will we - baptized in a faith taboo to question. And when the river, the artery of New Orleans bursts, we'll sink with the city before we admit our return to the Cafe du Monde is the end.