Thanks also to NOPD who pressed a loaded pistol to the back of my head as I lay facedown on a posh French Quarter hotel floor in a case of “mistaken identity”—you introduced me to the city too.

“Your people need you now!” I plead. “Just like they did back then. They asked you to be a weapon. And you were as terrible as they wanted you to be. Because that’s what we do, isn’t it? We change you gods wherever we bring you, make you into whatever we need.

They remember you, even if they don’t always call you by name. They sing and dance your songs. They carry you with them in their stories and memories. I carry you. And we need your protection!”