Noon City is not much to look up.There is only one street … . These buildings are grouped so closely together they seem to form a ramshackled palace thrown together overnight by a half-wit carpenter. Now across the road in isolation stand two other structures: a jail, and a tall queer tottering ginger-colored house. The jail has not housed a white criminal in over four years, and there is seldom a prisoner of any kind, the Sheriff being a lazy no-good, prone to take his ease with a bottle of liquor, and let troublemakers and thieves, even the most dangerous types of cutthroats, run free and wild. As to the freakish old house, no one has lived there for God knows how long, and it is said that once three exquisite sisters were raped and murdered here in a gruesome manner by a fiendish Yankee bandit who rode a silvergrey horse and wore a velvet cloak stained scarlet with the blood of Southern womanhood.

From “Other Voices, Other Rooms,”  by Truman Capote

 Capote described a lonesome almost forsaken city where a young boy who had just lost his mother was to meet his father. The youngster did not know him since his old man had abandoned him at birth.   With a few sentences, Truman Capote rendered a ghostly panoramic photograph of the fictitious small town in southern Lousiana.