Those counter-culture high school kids that worked metals and never really sweated their future and wore the same two pairs of jeans every day, but were sneaky popular (probably because they knew where to get weed or had a cool car they actually worked on) and looked good at prom and probably could’ve gotten good grades, too… Those kids moved to New Orleans.

Those kids were the ones that were being told to grow up and mature and quit acting out.

Thing is, they were too busy learning how to DO shit, and in that vein, they figured out how to make their own way.

New Orleans, with my limited but wide-eyed observation, looked to have learned the same way: by fucking up and getting fucked up and fucked over. Now, if you roll through the town, it may not be the most aesthetically pristine place to be, but I didn’t meet one person I couldn’t sit down and have a beer with and learn something from. That’s what I learned and that’s what these newspapers showed me and that’s why I kept them.