ectoblog.com

Note: the beginning of this faux odyssey can be found here. Probably should start there so that these several posts below make any kind of sense. 

The obligatory stagger around metro New Orleans looking for an open pizza place, then an open fast-food joint, then, as the horror settles in, an open seven-eleven for emergency Doritos and pie. Settling in at Music for a last beer or two, a last cigarette or two, pie, and a bed for Drew and the 2nd most comfortable chair in the Western Hemisphere for me. A wake-up the next morning, leaving a friendly .txt message on Drew’s computer expressing hope that the coming day doesn’t suck. Then, over the next week or so, the alternate universe merges back with this one and things, for all practical purposes, are back to normal. But not really, because we blew it. Damn microbes! Damn them to hell!

In an equally probable universe, instead of the F and M, if we hadn’t wanted to see so many lesbians, we would’ve gone to Carrollton Station. Legendary ex-home of the Chicken Drop. The problem with Carrollton, though, is that one needs to plan for the aftermath. There is no real food at Carrollton, so if we ended up here, we would starve unless food was already positioned at Music Street.

Our little lesbian bar. A good place to spend the time around midnight, when the drunk get hungry. The food is hot, and the lesbians hardly ever hassle us. Drew’s brother sometimes meets us here, because he likes the lesbians.

Fly to the Map

More beers, more talk, much sitting outside in the freezing cold. The Balcony is a nice place for a 45 minute sit in the winter. But we’d best have been moving on.

Fly to the Map

Hardwood and beer. Here we would’ve drunk several more beers and smoked many cigarettes. The sunny day outside would turn to night. Eventually we’d feel the need to move on. Would we want excitement? Shmaybe, shmaybe not. One can never tell how a mission will turn out at the beginning. Usually not. Usually tis better to talk than shout.

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Here is where we would’ve started out. Music Street, in a house much like this one, only woodier. Perhaps a beer or three, catching up, listening to a song or two on the stereo, planning the mission. The mission’s next stop is always d.b.a., since that’s the next stop.

Fly to the Map

The Mardi Gras* that should’ve been.
There are various sad reasons that Drew and I live in a world where we didn’t drink beer during Mardi Gras. It’s almost too painful to contemplate. But somewhere, in some alternate reality, we went out tonight and had a hell of a good time. These are the places those two fortunate alternate selves talked in, drank beer in, and, yes, called their far-away friends to shriek drunken salutations into their ears. So fly to the Map and join us on what mayen haven been a great night.

*Technically the Lundi Gras that should’ve been.