Mr. Okra has carrots  Follow on Twitter on June 25, 2009 at 2:14
PM, updated June 26, 2009 at 3:11 PM  Two mimes had sweat
beading on the silver dust that covered their faces and arms on
Thursday. They stood in the shade, hard against the fence around
Jackson Square. Their white buckets had no tips. Hardly anyone
was walking by. They looked listless, defeated.  They didn't
speak a word.  A yellow school bus full of little children drove
up Decatur Street and the children were singing loud with the
windows down. The kids, they don't know from heat.  They don't
know from troubles.  There were only two tarot readers in the
Square. If you paid them, they could tell you: "It's hot."  A
little white wooden box inside the Square, under a tree, says
"temperature station" on it and the thermometer inside it said
96. In the shade. There was a lone skateboarder in front of the
Cathedral, making that clack-clack-clack that skateboarders
make.  Mr. Okra cruised slowly down Dumaine Street keeping his
steady sing-song monol