In New Orleans, bodies can't be buried. Instead in boxes above the ground, the dead cluster together. When a man passes on, his family tomb is cracked open, old bones are shoved aside to make room for fresh remains. Bloodlines rot - entangled. The houses are that way too. +
+ Layer upon layer of peeling paint, hiding little tragedies, scorch marks from the fires, water lines on wallpaper.
These are the tombs of the living, wherein we rot alongside memories of our dead. Crowded with people we have failed and those who have failed us. +