||[Mar. 27th, 2005[Snapshot Taken]06:53 pm]
It was another six hour flight, but we arrived in New Orleans (“Nawlins”) to the locals, on Sunday, March 20 at 5 pm; with just enough daylight to pick up our baby blue Toyota Camry and drive to the St. Pierre hotel. It was to be our first real family vacation since Europe in 2003; mostly due to the fact that we’d all been in different places with different schedules. Both my brother and I were pleasantly surprised at the way my Mom and Dad were getting along so well…we’d found the silver lining to my Dad’s unfortunate luck at work; adversity had brought the two of them closer together. |
The air in New Orleans was noticeably more humid than California’s dry smoggy air, and it smelled differently, too. For one thing, everyone smoked anywhere they pleased—in restaurants, in malls, at the airport. This would make it difficult for me because my Mother and I made a deal that I would smoke only six cigarettes a day since I couldn’t quit. She’d hold onto my packs for me until I got the psychological help to defeat my demons and clean up my life. I felt guilty about asking my mom for my six cigarettes for the day, and guiltier still when I had to ask for just one more.
One thing she did say that made sense, though, was that I worked so hard to be in law school to become an attorney, but I couldn’t ever really be a good attorney until I took care of my physical and mental health as well. As it is, the six cigarettes a day are just enough to keep my addiction alive; and perhaps even worse than having as many as I pleased.
During our first day in New Orleans, we had our first encounter with Burbon Street, the infamous location for the Mardi-Gras and all night flesh-fests. Burbon was a 5 minute walk from our hotel, and instantly, there was the unmistakable sound of a crowd feeding on itself. We’d caught the tail end of Mardi-Gras, and insecure girls desperate for attention found solace in bearing their tits in socially acceptable Burbon fashion. Instantly, Karl hated the scene and withdrew deep inside himself; the only part of him still functional, his ever-searching ears for the sound of true straight-up jazz.
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