The humidity in the French Quarter hangs in the air like a suffocating cloud on a damp Saturday night.

The usual boisterous college gang heads down to Bourbon Street via the streetcar, and the tourists, brandishing Mardi Gras beads in the middle of September, trample down Decatur Street, one pushing a stroller with one hand and clutching a potent Hand Grenade in the other.

This crowd is usually one of privilege, ignoring the irony of the cathedral in Jackson Square presiding over mystics, or that Bourbon Street exists in a city where religion is part of the cultural landscape.

However, Brandy, an 18-year-old who has been out on the streets of the Quarter for the past eight months, is aware of all these contradictions.

Brandy sits on the side of a local specialty shop, facing passersby on Decatur Street. A typical sweater-set tourist loudly comments on what a cute puppy Brandy has, ignoring the fact that the owner is a young homeless woman in need of a donation.

Brandy’s right shoulder bears her tattooed name while her left arm protects her 34-week-old puppy Sweet Potato.

Many people have the idea that the homeless keep pets to avoid an easy arrest for loitering. According to Brandy, this is untrue.

“Many of the kids just love animals, and they need protection from other people,” she said. “It’s hard out here on the streets.”

But Brandy, like many other homeless kids, has found that there are some people who are willing to help.

She takes her dog to Dr. Mike’s Animal House on North Rampart Street because he gives discounted prices to the homeless kids with pets.

Perhaps the reason why Brandy goes out of her way to take care of her dog is because she has the same desire to be taken care of.

Brandy was born in Texas but had been in foster care in Louisiana for most of her life. She was released from foster care shortly after her 18th birthday and has been on the streets ever since.

Her efforts to find work have been impaired because she lacks a birth certificate and therefore cannot obtain a state ID.

Ironically, in Texas, Brandy would need an ID to obtain her birth certificate.

The last legitimate job she held was washing dishes at a local café nine months ago. She lost her job due to illness and has been looking for work ever since.

Brandy now spends her days panhandling on the streets of the French Quarter, usually making less than ten dollars a day. Panhandling is never easy and can be especially hard in New Orleans.

“They call me a bum. They insult me, I’ve gotten spit on, been kicked and threatened, and I almost got hit by a car once,” she said. “The locals are the worst. The tourists aren’t really used to this, so they’re kinder and more sympathetic (to the homeless). The locals are not only used to it, they’re sick of it.”

Brandy does not see New Orleans as a place for advancement and intends to move to Colorado with her boyfriend as soon as they get the money.

“This not a place to develop a life,” she said. “What’s the main attraction here? Alcohol. Alcohol is one of the number one killers. This city is a place to rot.”

Farther down Decatur Street is Jackson Square, a congregating area for the psychics, derelicts and onlookers who observe the circus of people in amazement.

Simon is relatively new to the scene, having only been working in Jackson Square for the past five months.

Simon was homeless in his native Virginia before moving to the Crescent City with his roommate. Together, they had $2000 and were much better off than most transients looking for work in New Orleans.

Of course, fortune telling does not exactly allow for a steady income.”It’s hard to say, but monetarily my best night was around $120,” he said.

Simon is hesitant when speaking about money because it is illegal for the Jackson Square psychics to charge for readings.

All monies are received on a donation basis. In fact, according to Simon, local residents have deliberately listened in on readings, waiting for someone to slip and say the words “charge” or “money,” knowing that the fortuneteller can be ticketed or even arrested if these words are used.

According to Simon, laws do not specify whether a vendor may suggest that a typical donation is within a certain price range.

Fortune telling is not typically a career with many possibilities for advancement, so Simon wishes to explore other avenues.

“I like anthropology and eventually want to go to college,” he said, adding that he wants to leave New Orleans because he feels that his opportunities are limited by staying here.

While re-lighting the incense sticking out of his prayer candle, he comments on the negative treatment he receives from some tourists who undermine the validity of his profession by blatantly insulting his work. A lack of respect from patrons is a problem that many people who work in the French Quarter face no matter what their chosen profession.

Offering some perspective on the situation of the eclectic and hostile work environment is Freeman, a 39-year-old entrepreneur who makes Afro-centric jewelry.

“It’s hard to make it in this city,” he said. Freeman looks upward to the skyline above Canal Street, taking in the architecture of buildings remaining from a long ago and less progressive society.

Freeman comments that just as the city has preserved this architecture, it has also preserved an oppressive mentality.

The night has only just begun, bringing in more patrons for the self-employed and struggling workers on the streets of the infamous Vieux Carre. Flashing cameras catch fleeting images of the performers, artists and homeless who adorn the streets like side-show attractions.

Only they are aware of how much reality exists in this surreal atmosphere.

Editor’s note: The subjects interviewed did not wish to reveal their last names.

Tourists visit homeless youth in the Quarter. ( )

(Gillian Dicker )