He ain't move. He dead.

Many years ago, I visited New Orleans for the first time. It was pre-Katrina, if that helps your mental calendar. I went with my friend Lori before she became my roommate, my ex-roommate, and the motivation behind so many bill collectors calling my number looking for her. We went during spring break.

We walked around the French Quarter. We heard great music and tried wonderful food. We ventured into a place that, she said, smelled like casino nickels and whiskey sweat. We saw the town. 

One of the many things we did in that city was a trip to their aquarium. It was really interesting, and we saw plenty of creatures. We were allowed to pet a small shark, for God's sake. How often does that happen?

In the aquarium, there was one creature that stood out- not because it was vastly cooler than all the others, but because it elicited a terrific reaction from two old black ladies. 

The creature in question was an albino alligator. I guess we were all supposed to marvel at the white, pre-historic looking monster. Maybe we were supposed to fear its snapping jaw. Lori and I stared at it for a while, but it wasn't terribly intimidating. In fact, it may have been sleeping. 

Enter the two old black ladies. They saw us speculating on the less-than-lively gator. One of them volunteered an observation, "He ain't move." 

Astute woman. 

The way the exhibit was designed, we passed the gator and looped the room. We had to go out roughly the way we came in. The two old black ladies were still staring down the pearly beast. 

I think Lori was the one who asked them for a progress report on our reptilian friend. 

"He still ain't move," the same woman repeated. 

Her friend chimed in, "He dead."

Those voices were in my head as I left my house today to go have lunch with Cas. I pulled out of my alleyway and onto the street, when I saw this vehicle. 

It was clear that, since the onslaught of the winter weather, he ain't move. I sure hope he not dead.