Rampart Street Parade, by Louis Armstrong
You don't remember nothing if you don't remember Storyville the day Josie Arlington died. She had the best house in the district; the parlor had them big brass chandeliers with frosted glass globes that looked like breasts, red plush sofas, pianos going all the time. "No girl was ever ruined at Josie Arlington's" she used to say, so the ladies were professionals every one. And something about her death brought everybody together. Cora Pearl, she that ran the second-best house, went to the funeral parlor and dressed Josie for the grave and did her hair. And the funeral procession had all the jazz bands and a mule-drawn hearse and was two miles long. Nobody knew, starting out, that before it came to the burying ground there would be a murder that the city would sing about for ever afterwards…
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