Skip to main content

A Walk on Milan

We follow our usual route for a walk on Milan Street: away from the river and toward the lake, though at this distance Pontchartrain is a mere idea. At the end of Milan, we turn left on Magazine. That’s a street, not a periodical. The asphalt of Milan is gravelly, its edges bleeding into St. Augustine runners. Magazine is a proper street with trustworthy sidewalks and retail shops, one of which is our destination: Undergrowth Coffee, which I always want to be Underground, because I’m a hopeless lover of puns.

The open door of the crepe shop lures with flannelly aromas, but we persevere. Peaches is having a National Record Day Sale (Tom’s been waiting for weeks.) But we don’t join the clumps of folks swinging white shopping bags. We have intent.

Almost there, we cross the green and white tile outside Casamento’s oyster house. A bleary-eyed man stands beside the black garbage cans, probably a castaway from Ms. Mae’s Bar on the corner. Evangeline tries to sniff him, an opportunity for a lesson in boundaries.

We arrive at Undergrowth. Its cafe table and chairs are missing from the sidewalk. We peer through the door. All dark. It is closed. We stand for a minute, discombobulated. Then we turn around.

And take a walk on Milan Street home.

Black dog on front porch beside patterned cushion on glider with black wrought iron fence, resting after a walk on Milan
Evangeline resting at home after a walk on Milan Street

Magazine Street, Magazine Street New Orleans, Milan Street New Orleans

Comments (6)

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *