“Holy crap. Nicolas Cage is dead.”
My wide eyes trailed over the smooth stone of the actor’s tomb, so hot you could burn a pizza on it. It was 2017 in the dead of August, and I was about to watch what the media was calling the “Great American Eclipse” from the center of St. Louis Cemetery No. 1. The band of the solar eclipse would span the entire contiguous United States, which was a big deal, apparently.
Anyway, I knew the New Orleans cemetery was famous for housing the dead bodies of Voodoo Queen Maria Laveau, human rights activist Homer Plessy and New Orleans first mayor, Étienne de Boré. But Nicky baby—I thought he had so much life left to live.
“As you can see, Nicolas Cage’s grave is popular with the ladies,” said Linda, our short, stocky tour guide, who wore a towel around her neck to catch sweat. “And the drag queens.”