Second Line

In New Orleans you can wake up in Spain and fall asleep in France

It’s true I tell ya. This entire weekend was a defining “I love New Orleans” moment.

My Friday evening looked like this: two bar stools, Abita Amber, discovering the jukebox-friendly treasures of Miles Davis & Jimi Hendrix, bizarre conversations that only two brass players could have, cheap wine, unraveling the inherent rhythm in a line of trash cans, and a film named Pink Flamingos at a dive called Lost Love Lounge. It gets worse (better) from there.

Cue three hours of sleep. 7am rolls around and I jack-in-the-box myself awake, poke the other two sleepy folks in my apartment, and head 8 blocks south to catch the Running of the Bulls. This deserves a bit of a description. (more…)