The sirens stop below my window. What’s this? Is the hotel on fire? I’m too stoned to move. Barbara, where are you?

The sirens stop below my window. What’s this? Is the hotel on fire? I’m too stoned to move. Barbara, where are you?
TOR HOLSTRÖM drifted into New Orleans like a tropical breeze, inviting yet elusiveness . He was a rakish figure, tall and lean, fair hair tousled in the wind. Here was a man who moved lightly through life.