New Orleans Hornets Preview: "Mansard Roof"

Josh Spilker of Deckfight gives us the 2010 Hornets. Getting these out is quickly becoming a testament of will. Feel free to add your thoughts in our comments section and check out the other NBA previews we've done so far.Carrollton, Magazine, St. Charles. Emeka had always heard of these homes, he never expected to make one of them into his own. Chris had tentatively offered him a place in his building on Poydras and another one in the CBD, some high-rise with multiple penthouses filled with the Saints and Lenny Kravitz. But those were industrial, not comfortable; sterile, not homely. The wine collection would not fit in those apartments, several hundred bottles scattered on a concrete floor. Nothing brought out the wrath of Okafor more than a broken bottle of vintage merlot.

"This one is very nice, very suitable for a man of your size and stature," said Emeka's real estate agent, a sixty-ish woman with short maroon hair, multiple gold rings on her fingers, a flowing yellow dress. They were approaching the front door.

brrrrbrrrr. Emeka checked his phone. A text from his agent. "Not in TPA. Not in B'more 4 sure."

The entryway was small, the stairs immediately on the right, seemingly going nowhere. The dining room had a large oak table, vaulted ceilings, at least 11 feet high.

"And this room, great views of the rolling yard and the manicured gardens," she said.

brrrbrrr. Another text from his agent. "No go in STL. Nothing in Nashville."

Emeka glanced at the yard. The garden, lilacs and tulips. A high fence. All of this was good, but he turned back into the house. The walls, Emeka wanted to see the walls. "Show me the dining room," he said.

brrrbrrr. Yet another. "Possible KC. Possible SD."

He was fascinated with the walls. Their cream voluptuousness soaring above, their expanse so wide. Slight cracks underneath the crown molding enhanced their charm.

He stretched out his arms, the full length of his wingspan not quite great enough to encapture it. There would be plenty of room, plenty.

brrrbrrr. Now an email. His agent moved to email. "Definitely not Seattle. People aren't ready. Not considering Alberquerque. That's like thinking of a team on the moon. Why would that happen? You're losing your mind..." He clicked the Blackberry off.

"Have you seen the clawed-foot tubs. They're..." the maroon-haired lady started. "And the master... "

"I'll take it, I'll take it," Emeka said. "Will you accept a check?"

***

The next day, Emeka lays silently on the wooden floors, the beams radiating the length of his body. The Mayflower trucks were on their way from Charlotte, making the drive down I-40 and through the great American south.

On the wall was a gigantic map, a map of epic proportions of the continental United States. A thick Magik Marker drew the path from Charlotte to New Orleans. Darts were scattered all over the floor. Only one stuck on the map.

RING.....RING. Emeka tilted his head up off the floor, dug the phone out of his pocket. The real estate agent.
"Mr. Okafor?"

"Yes."
"I checked on those two requests for you, sir."
"Great."
"Well, you were right...I couldn't find the phone or house number for a uh, Mr. George Shinn anywhere in town. He might live in Metairie, but I doubt it. Maybe Old Metairie."
"Okay."
"And yes, all my sources tell me now IS the absolute, the most absolute best time to buy in Las Vegas."
"Great. Do it. I'll hold onto it for a few years."