Real grand masters don’t usually hustle, he said. But he thought he played one once, a guy from the Philippines. The guy beat Scoe, but then seemed guilty about it. He came back for a rematch and said Scoe wouldn’t have to pay, no matter the outcome. It was a fierce game. Scoe suspected the guy let him win.

In New Orleans, the Mississippi winds like a cursive word that has just been pulled too straight to decipher. My last morning in town, I set my alarm for 6:20 a.m. to watch the sunrise over the water — I hadn’t seen a sunrise in any city in a long time. I sat on the steps of a riverbank pavilion. A crescent moon was still in the sky. A crew of men worked a high crane, as if they’d just hung it there.

The sun came up faster than I expected, jogging through a metal spectrum — bronze, copper, rose gold — before dialing into daylight.

I left the riverbank to head back into the French Quarter. With the sun still low behind me, my shadow was the tallest I could remember seeing it. Sixty-five feet — I estimated by counting the steps it took to walk its length.

At midmorning, I set out for a silver shop on Chartres Street. Every time I performed nearby, I made a little pilgrimage to this shop to admire a particular necklace. It’s made out of tiny interlocking chains, so fine that the whole thing drapes like heavy fabric around the display neck — not native behavior for metal. The shop was usually bolted down for the night by the time I arrived. But I would still look in through the glass.

The first time I saw it, I knew this necklace would never pass the rap test: Doomtree sets are two hours of jumping, sweating and body checking. I’ve had bra clasps fail midshow, inseams give and solid metal bracelets snap, ensnared in another rapper’s mike cord. But I had resolved that if I ever arrived early enough to find the store open, I’d buy the necklace. And I would commit to finding an occasion to wear it — a neighboring universe where I enjoyed cocktails in moderation and could walk down stairs in high heels.

I didn’t want to creep out the saleslady, but I couldn’t manage to contain myself: “I’ve been visiting this necklace for seven years.” She was unfazed, and said it was one of the few pieces they had more than one of in stock. In my hands, it was heavier than I expected. Maybe gravity in New Orleans pulled harder on beautiful things. After she boxed it, I took a picture of the empty display window, feeling strange that I wouldn’t be coming back.