You hear music, all kinds of music, all day. You heard all kinds of people passing by singing. They had these machon [? (spelling)] ladies that was selling things. They have a basket on their head, and they wouldn't hold the basket. It would be the blackberry lady or the strawberry lady or the pie lady. People sell all kinds of bartering to make some money to survive. Old ladies used to sell . . . I can't think of them things. Calas. You know what a cala is? Cala is a rice cake. It had rice and flour, and it looks like a round doughnut, like a brown biscuit. They stand by the church. Each church you see these old women standing there with a basket. Have on 'em slave clothes. Big skirts. They're from way back there. These are old people, see. I'm a little boy, four, five years old, and I see these old ladies standing up there, and I'd go and look. One particular at Chartres Street and [? (inaudible)] I'd look at her, because I was mystified by her, because the lady was jet black, but she had blue eyes, and I couldn't understand that the least bit. They had a nickname for her. I can't think of the nickname. The lady with the blue eyes. I'd go and stand and look at her, and she would look at me, and I wouldn't say a word. She would shake her head. "Pauvre. Pauvre petit. " You know what that means?