From the balcony of our room we can see the DMZ of Bourbon Street three blocks away which divide the Frat Hole section from the alternative lifestyle zone where we are staying. A group of people wearing crisp white shirts stands there holding up a neon cross.
They cursed us as “Godless Sodomites” as we walked by last night. They were not amused by my response of, “Sodomites?! Well, not today yet, but thanks for the idea.”
I got up early this morning for a short run along the Mississippi. The good news is that you really can’t find a flatter place to run than along a river. And the scenery was very interesting in combination with the opportunity to people-watch the early people coming out crossing paths with the late people heading home.
The bad news is that I was quite the object of curiosity among the groups of school children disembarking from their buses on the way to field trips at the aquarium. I heard several variations of this exchange:
“What’s that crazy white man doin’?”
People apparently don’t run in New Orleans. They eat. And they drink.
My sweat smells like blackened bourbon.