photo: F LoBuonoThis is why I love New Orleans. It's not just the noise of the jazz the pours out of the booze soaked gin joints of fetid, wonderful, horrible Bourbon St. like their inebriated, stumbling, sweaty, stinking patrons. It's not just the grease dripping from the large, red, Coca Cola sign at The Glove Grill, the Gay luncheonette, guaranteeing the perfect amount of home grown flavor in every gut-busting breakfast . It's not just the elegant sophistication of the mirrored, tiled, steadfast Arnaud's. It's the quiet, spontaneous moments that one encounters off the well drunken conveyor belt of decadence that is Bourbon St. It's encountering the totally unexpected in a city that is, in a sense a contradiction of itself; it is both devoutly Catholic and utterly Bacchanalian. It is much like New York, but certainly with its own unique twists, a city of EXTREMES. Both are outrageously sublime and devoutly decadent. Both are frenetically peaceful and passionately indifferent. Both are stubbornly easy. They are NEVER boring. Thank god. :)
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