It was do or die, time to shit or get off the pot so to speak. The next morning, Donald awoke to a text message instructing him to show up at The Marigny Opera House located at 725 Saint Ferdinand Street, at 11:00 am for orientation. One by one, the remaining three plantation slaves were loaded in the van and they were again chained together with heavy leg irons and chains that seemed to weigh even more now that the effects of the alcohol and poppers had worn off a bit. The bidding began. Donald maneuvered his way to one of the windows and used the sill as a seat and he glanced nervously at the guy named Mark and they whispered about what they thought might be happening. And indeed they looked like they wanted to. One by one, the remaining three plantation slaves were loaded in the van and they were again chained together with heavy leg irons and chains that seemed to weigh even more now that the effects of the alcohol and poppers had worn off a bit. Even this place, man, it’s rumored to be one of the last standing slave trading auction blocks of the era.”
In that moment, Donald felt the souls of the slaves speaking out to him.
