We woke early(-ish) and trekked off to a stranger's house for breakfast burritos. We sat in a darkened, candle-lit living room under a chandelier hung with green garters and white lace panties with shamrocks and tried to make ourselves heard over the snuffling of the host's dog (how do they sleep at night?). The bits and pieces I could hear were odd: "prison rodeo," "inmates compete," "poker chip glued to a bull's forehead," "surely the infirmary is preferable," ...
All the while, the rain came down. On the way home, I stripped off my shoes and rolled my pants. My attention was split between watching for stones on the sidewalk and observing the beginnings of the day's festivities, and I narrowly avoided stepping on a crawfish that had escaped a local barbeque and was making a run for the storm gutter.
The rain tapered off, and far off, the parade started. By the time it looped around to our vantage point, the paraders were drunk, tired, wet, and running out of tchotkes, but we still made out ok. I got enough beads that my neck felt the strain. Green garters, a beer in a green plastic bottle, a felt hat shaped like a beer mug, a stuffed frog, plastic cups,a bag, several cabbages (green and purple), and my favorite, a hot pickle in a plastic pouch.
They do know how to celebrate in New Orleans!
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