I alight at Esplanade in a smell of roasting coffee and creosote and walk up Royal Street. The lower Quarter is the best part. The ironwork on the balconies sags like rotten lace. Little French cottages hide behind high walls. Through deep sweating carriageways one catches glimpses of courtyards gone to jungle.
The narrator arrives at Esplanade, engulfed by the aromas of coffee and creosote, before strolling along Royal Street. He expresses a fondness for the lower Quarter, describing it as the most appealing area of the city. The vivid imagery highlights the charm and decay of the surroundings.
He observes the intricate yet deteriorating ironwork on the balconies, likening them to tattered lace. The quaint French cottages are concealed behind imposing walls, and the hidden courtyards, filled with overgrown vegetation, evoke a sense of mystery and nostalgia for the lively past of the neighborhood.