The TV came to life long before I did and blared, “The tiny town of Bokoshe, Oklahoma, population 500, has had enough of the pollution that residents blame on power plants and fracking waste. Now, these citizens have filed a class-action suit against the companies they think are responsible.”

I pushed the button on my Keurig v-cup coffee maker a second time, in a half-drunk, half-hungover robotic stab as I had done far too many times before. The caffeine infusion had begun the process of reviving me. I just needed more. I loved the sound that Keurig made and soon I was sipping my second cup.

“In other news, authorities believe that the recent discovery of another body is the work of the serial killer dubbed the Quarter Killer. The half-clothed body of a female believed to be in her late twenties was discovered stuffed into a trash collection bin. Authorities believe the murder is connected to the string of killings plaguing New Orleans for the last five years.” “Today’s weather....Blah, blah, blah.” I tuned out the TV.

Who wanted to hear about pollution, serial killers and bad weather? The voices faded and my mind focused on how the hell I would get through the day. Good ole caffeine was kicking in and making me feel better. Should I be feeling good right now? A serial killer loose in New Orleans, and I come home with a stranger from a bar? Good one, Alex. I called myself Alex. Everybody back home in Indiana called me Alex. Not here in New Orleans. I’m Alexandra except to Sarah. She loved to call me Alex. Every time she said it, my heart got that comforting feeling you can only get by sitting down to a home-cooked meal at your grandma’s kitchen table. In New Orleans I was Alexandra, the woman who was independent, drank and picked up strangers in bars. Oh shit. What would my mother think? My mother’s Midwestern values had been molded from the farm community she grew up in, that I grew up in and my all of my family as far back as I remembered grew up in. Those outdated farm values were what made me flee Indiana. Too boring. My mother had gone on ahead to heaven. I liked to think she watched over me. I hope she wasn’t watching last night. If she was, I’ll be in my room tonight without supper.

Old-fashioned values and habits aren’t outdated if you listened to Zach. They kept us connected to the earth and were as real as you could get. I have time, I think, if I hurry, to go to the Cafe and get beignets. I’ll buy some for the office to surprise them. That way I can eat comfort food and get some Zach comfort talk too.