I moved to the city after Hurricane Katrina. I did not move here because of the storm, or to rebuild the city, or because I rode trains across country. I moved here because of a woman--now mother to our one year old daughter. \r\n Our daughter was born at Touro Hospital last August. Something I have noticed since becoming a father is the large number of young babies in and around the city. When I go to the Walgreens to purchase diapers my daughter\'s size is almost always sold out. \r\n As an outsider listening to stories about Katrina from co-workers, friends, and students I have mainly just listened. My partner Laura was a bartender at the Abbey for a year and during that time she helped customers deal with post traumatic stress regarding the aftermath of the storm. \r\n Being a History student I\'m interested in how the storm and the city are seen through direct and indirect memory. Many times wheeling patients onto Tulane Ave. to wait for their rides (my hospital job of the last 4 years) patients have said, \"The city will never be the same.\" Aside from the obvious fact that I do not know, or pretend to know, what the city was like before I arrived there seems to be a consensus among my patients that the view from Tulane Ave. and Saratoga Street is significantly different from their past memories. \r\n Six months ago as I wheeled a patient out onto the familiar cross streets to await their ride I again heard the familiar reply, \"The city will never be the same.\" To which I responded, \"You mean since Katrina.\" \"Katrina?\" he said. \"I\'m talking about the 1980s.\" The patient was a 50 year old resident of St. Bernard who once lived in the city in his twenties--in the prime of his life.\r\n So I pay close attention to memories when it comes to the storm. Nothing is ever static in my opinion when it comes to memories. And when narratives begin to change, begin to coalesce, then I believe something huge is happening.