25 Years Wasted with the Krewe de Vieux
It is nighttime, and the shops on Royal Street are closed, their antique wares reflecting like glitter the flickering flames of the gas lanterns hanging out front along the whole length of the street. The crowd thickens the farther we walk into the French Quarter towards the Marigny. Costumed couples, triplets and strings of people, are swaying in revelry and drunkenness, bunches of sparkling plastic beads dangling off their necks. There are beer bottles and plastic cups glued to hands which spill liquid contents into mouths or onto the street. It is barely seven o'clock, and everything seems blurry. If I didn't know better, I'd think I accidentally stepped onto the Pirates of the Caribbean roller-coaster at Disneyland.