Fair Weather Mardi Gras. Chapter 592.
A flaneur lives the life of a galley slave, always on patrol in the sea of life. Luckily, his life is also an embarrassment of riches. Last night was Dark 80s night on the jukebox. This afternoon the INXS station is playing. Python Lady has pull at this place. She requested it.
“I told them this station would make you happy,” Python Lady said.
Python Lady knows me well.
Everything is coming up roses. Vincent is en route. It could be worse. It could be Shugee.
Mardi Gras is two weeks away. The big parades begin rolling down St. Charles Avenue tonight. The city is full of ersatz revelers.
I misspoke. They are actual revelers. They are just from out of town and do not know how to behave according to local custom. They come from a different country. They come from outside the Isle of Orleans.
Python Lady, chipped piece of porcelain that she is, she said, “I have a prediction for today. I predict that at 12:30 a plane full of yahoos is going to land, which means they will be here around 1:30 because they can’t check into their AirBnB until 3:00.”
“It will be a luggagehenge,” I said.
I am not looking forward to weaving through all that luggage on my way to the men’s room. ‘Tis the season. Next week will be worse.
Let me let you in on the parade routine. I may as well provide some actual, useful information beyond what is happening on my beat. I rarely go Uptown so I doubt I will be seeing any parades.
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Fly MSY.