Neon signs beckoned with promises of booze. Awful strip clubs called to us with promises of 'famous love acts' that were somehow even more disappointing than when I first visited New Orleans three years ago. But it was at the suggestion of some locals that we found a little bar several blocks off of Bourbon called Flannagan's. As we settled in there and saw the lack of beads and tourists, we made ourselves at home and our night began in earnest.
A week ago tonight I was stumbling through the French Quarter, on my first night out of New York, enjoying the company of good friends until entirely too goddamn late. We were on our way back to the hotel, but somehow my good friend TR convinced me to make one last stop with him. It's always the detour that winds up kicking your ass in these adventures.
That was the first of several such days. Sunday morning, after a whole lot of drinking with both old and new friends, I saw the wrong side of dawn for the first time in quite a bit. It was kind of fantastic but more than a little exhausting. I got about three hours of sleep and crammed everything back into my luggage. It was time to leave the Big Easy.
One long-ass roadtrip later and I've been drying out at a friend's place in Little Rock for the last few days. I've never had a hangover last for days before, but this was a good, quiet spot to recover.
And now, in a few hours, I depart. The first leg of my Amtrak Rail Pass takes me from Arkansas into Texas. I'll be visiting an old friend in Dallas.
The adventure begins.
