Who is Whalehead King?

I APOLOGIZE for cutting you off in traffic the other day, but I had somewhere I had to be. IF YOU ARE one of the people I stopped to chitchat with because something caught my eye, thank you for taking the time.

I’m a flaneur in New Orleans. I ride a motor scooter. These are the days of our lives.

I’m tired of trying to find a publisher. This makes sense to me.

These are small chapbooks I make myself on a copier, old-school. There are enough virtual nothings in this world.

I live in New Orleans. This, in itself, explains itself. It explains why we can travel anywhere else in the country and get carte blanche. I’m from Connecticut but I’ve gone disconcertingly native.

If I waited for permission, nothing would get done.

The Beachcorner. Eight pages about the day Roadrunner was featured in Louisiana Cookin’ Magazine. The gang’s been talking about it for weeks. The magazine will cost you 9 bucks at Barnes at Noble, and it’s full of ads and puff pieces. This little chapbook that I’ve made by hand is only eight bucks. If you want to see the other side of life, it’s totally worth it.  

It’s also pocket-sized.

$8. See below.

This work-in-progress is a one-man operation at the moment. It’s an eight page book, not including the covers. Is it worth a dollar a page? I think so, especially when you consider that I’m not going to mail it. I’ll drop it by your house as I make my rounds. Expect a signed copy. You can donate it to the Historic New Orleans Collection some day. I won’t knock on the door—just a drop-off.

Having a life to live, I don’t feel like going to the Post Office. I also don’t think a credit card company should be taking a cut just because I want to do something and you want to share in it. I have lived here long enough to prefer cash, since it leaves no trace. I will also take Paypal, I think, or Venmo. I find all of this a hassle, so just tell me how you want to pay. Since I deliver it in person, you can leave it under the doormat. If I don’t see any dough, I’ll know what to do. You’re welcome to pick it up at my house. I HAVE NOTHING AGAINST THE HONOR SYSTEM.

I don’t live in the Bunny Bread factory, but I do live someplace well-known enough that you’ll be able to find it. It’s hidden in plain sight.

You tell me. I’m a flaneur. Nothing is out of my way, and, by design, I usually don’t have much to do.

Would you like to read a real New Orleans story for a change?

I know what to do forty years ago, so I am moving by muscle memory. I don’t care because I am so sick of the modern world, I am going to fight it the only way I know how: By a return to innocence, even if that means AIDS-era Lower East Side CBGBs and Danceteria. I know what to do.

I am going full Repo Man. Give these books a read. This is how I experience the city. To office workers, it’s exotic.

I’m making this up as I go along, trying to navigate 2026. Who cares?