New Orleans, August 2005. Before . .

Weather charts don't tell a story, they merely post markers. They're not sweaty, they're not sleepless, they're not exhausting. The temperatures of August 2005 were vampires, and circumscribed virtually everything that affected daily life in a city below sea level, surrounded by water, well along a road already filled with misery.

Guns, drugs, tourists, beer and go-cups. Drive through daiquiri stands, 24 hour street scenes and bad roads. Torn sidewalks, failing schools, deep potholes. Drive-by shootings, corner crack stores. Life in the Big Easy. But New Orleans was hardly Big, not any longer. A downwardly spiraling population, suburban flight and too many locals going through the revolving doors of the jails. And Easy? Easy, perhaps, for a privileged minority secure behind ornate gates, lush walls covered with confederate jasmine. An easy place to die, get high, drop out. An easy place to plan cocktails, or a tailgate party, or a funeral.

Yes, we know funerals in New Orleans. We have them down to a fine art. We march, play our instruments, wear our dirges. Life is easy but dying's even easier. And everywhere, the heat. My thermostat still read 94F at 11:00 pm on the nights in August. Lean times, too lean for $400 electric bills. Too lean for decrepit air conditioners to waste their watts. It took a lot less energy to chill a bottle of wine or a bottle of beer.

There was no gris-gris giving a premonition. There were no omens, unless the crime stats were omens. There were no nagging whispers that something bad was going down because those whispers were lost in the long days of summer. Sickly sweet night-blooming jasmine, night prowling cats, night prowling turistas. As we say: "same ole, same ole".

I had a second floor apartment almost on the river. High ceilings, wood floors, tiny balcony. Lots of mosquitoes and a favored destination for roaches. But only steps from the Quarter, from Frenchman Street in the Marigny, from all the small things that we considered the city's charm. I also had a tight circle of friends with a regular morning coffee klatch. A fluctuating group of 5 to 15, every morning. Artist, realtor, student, retiree, landscaper - an incredible range of age and accomplishment, of past and future.

More on the days Before to come.