Present over Perfect 4901 Words Early September in New Orleans must be as hot as anywhere on earth. They say it’s the humidity. Whatever it is, sweat was beading on my forearms as I sat in front of my favorite hangout on Kerlerec St., the Oasis Bar & Grill. The bar was not far from what would almost certainly become my former apartment. With no job, no money, and no prospects, all I had was my mother’s assurance that, “Everything happens for a reason, God has a plan for you, you’ll see.” I didn’t go inside where it was slightly...
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