New Orleans. March, 1991

I was told not to go into New Orleans’ cemeteries alone. Fiddlesticks. I figured they meant at night, so off I went, camera in hand. And am I glad I did. The city’s volatile combination of Roman Catholicism, voodoo, French and Spanish ancestry and general Southern superstition has resulted in some pretty interesting displays. Among the more subtle: these Xs on so many of the above-ground tombs. I learned that followers of late voodoo priests and priestesses scratch three Xs on their tombs in hopes of having their wishes granted. I abstained.