It’s always hot in the South, I think. Mobile was good and sweaty today, so we celebrated the heat by hitting a flea market to hunt for some treasures. Pretty colorful assortment of items, some pretty standard, a couple pretty amazing. Scored a couple trinkets and got on the big road down to New Orleans.

On the way down, I made it a point to see the those Gulf Shores, but for just 10 minutes.

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PJ “Hoss” Chmiel was flying in from Chicago to join me for the mission north alongside the Mississippi River. The sonofabitch touched down a little before 5pm, and we picked him up shortly after.

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And right downtown we went, right to that French Quarter. It smelled like puke. We walked the entire “chump stretch” of Bourbon Street, taking in the sights, smells and sounds of the evening. Pretty festive action.

01. “Bourbon Street smelled of vomit.”
02. “…or maybe it was the Jambalaya.”
03. “Festive establishments offering honest product.”
04. “Voo-Doo? Voo-Don’t.”

Veering off Bourbon, we hiked up a couple blocks to see the most amazing�and creepy�homes and apartments. A great setting for a scary movie. It felt odd, and dark, and old, and sinister. New Orleans is old. I thought of Interview With A Vampire upon viewing a big fella dressed in black with a cape and tophat and filed teeth and…and, well, if we woulda spoke with this “creature of the night,” it would’ve been titled something along the lines of, “Interview With A Dickhead.” What a piece of work. He was surrounded by wide-eyed tourists, shrieking with each touch from him. Boo!

Lots of meatheads with slurred words and empty sentiments, too.

We saddled up for feast at an indian joint called Tandoori, just off Canal street. A meal fit for kings. We finished our vittles and headed up out into the stick to find a place to crash for the night. We settled on the Royal Motel, gently nestled behind the “Southern Kumfort” Gentleman’s Club. Yikes. Cheap sleep, with two rooms even.