Forgive me if you find typos, missspellings, grammatical errors … beyond those that may be intentional … syntax … you get it!. I must get this posted tonight and I have no one to proofread it.
It’s the 4th of July and I’m going to tell a Mardi Gras tale … Actually, it’s several Mardi Gras tales rolled into one … The year was between 1982 and 1985, or all of them … My alarm went off at 04:00 … I was to pick Ricky up at 05:00 so I made myself a pot of coffee, grabbed Harry, and got on the road … Rick and I spent Fat Tuesday in the French Quarter every year from about ‘82 to ‘87. … We alternated years being designated driver … This was my year … I pulled up to the cabin just a few minutes before 05:00 and walked around back to the carport door … The door stood open … Spike, the pit bull, was standing just on the other side of the screen … He recognized me before I recognized him and his whole hind end was wagging … I went in to see Ricky sitting at the table with a shot glass and half a bottle of Jack sitting in front of him … “Dude, you just fucked up Mardi Gras” … ‘Naw, Man. I’m ready.’ … Some discussion ensued … At 05:20 we were on our way out to I59, Jack. and Harry, and all.
7:20 … we exited I10 onto St. Bernard and then onto Rampart and then down into the quarter from the top NW corner … In a few minutes we were on Decatur Street looking for a parking space … at that time of the morning you could sometimes get one on the street on the quarter side of Canal … else … other side of Canal … you looked for a pay lot within half a mile of the quarter.
08:00 We were at the … then … Lee Circle waiting for the Zulu parade to roll by … I sat Rick down on a stoop and told him under no circumstances was he to move until I came and told him he could … I knew he wasn’t listening …
10:00 … After the Zulus passed, we waited around Lee Circle … there were Port’O’Lets there … Ricky was beginning to get just a little coherent … Before long the Half-Fast Marching Band came along … Pete Fountain was leading them on his clarinet. … Some of them were sitting in the wagon being pulled by the tiny tractor while the rest were out marching in the street … [rumor is that they started somewhere in the Irish Channel and began to play through the neighborhood stopping at every bar they encountered, so by the time they made it to Lee Circle they were well on their way to a fantastic Mardi Gras … [It’s just an excuse to get drunk, you know!] … We second lined with them down to Canal Street and into the quarter …
11:00 … We were all three enjoying the quarter … Ricky and Me and Harry … Remember back in the first paragraph I said I made myself a pot of coffee, grabbed Harry, and got on the road to Rick’s? … Harry is a puppet. … [[You can see him at ForeverBisbee.com]] … He is a sloth. … I purchased him at the French Market in 1980+/- … When I stick my arm up his butt I can work his jaws! … He hangs his arms around my neck … by design … and … by design … he should be able to encircle my waist with his legs but the best he can do is tuck them into the waistband of my trousers … Velcro helped. … … … … … Harry didn’t talk … Harry would bite! … [But only if he were invited to bite. … No means no!] … So the three of us were strolling along St. Peter on our way to Jackson Square … We crossed Decatur … up and over the amphitheater … down across the railroad tracks … and, finally, up and onto the Riverwalk … On this particular day this particular year we wandered downriver maybe twenty yards and sat down on the rocks just off the grass … the rocks sloped down to the river about twenty feet away … A few feet in front of us sat a young man with a backpack … Not sure if he knew we were there … I was laying on my back just off the grass … Harry was monitoring the sidewalk above us for an upskirt … Then Ricky said ‘I’ll bet he’s got a jiernt.” pointing to a guy sitting about five feet in front of us.
“I wonder.” said I.
And sure enough, he reached into his backpack and produced a jiernt. He lit it and passed it back … Rick took a big hit and handed it to me … I took a big hit and extended it back to the fellow who lit it. … As my arm started forward the jiernt was plucked from my fingers and tossed toward the river … ‘We’re not going to take you in for this, but god forbid you’ve got another’ … I looked down at the guy who lit the jiernt … How many more did he have in his backpack? … Might be a kilo in there … Harry was insulted when he was turned inside out and they questioned some of the dust at the end of one of his legs … Don’t we all get something we’re not proud of in between our toes from time-to-time?…
12:00 … Resumed our afternoon back on Bourbon … The crowd pressed in on all sides … Harry was in his element … [Have I mentioned that Harry is my alter ego?] … We often found ourselves, in the press of the crowd … knots of people I used to call them … smack up against the backside of a woman … Harry would tap her on the shoulder … No discrimination. … Was this not a real woman? … Was she born male??? … No discrimination.. … She would turn and find herself staring at a pair of bulging brown eyes … fully an inch across … and the face of a cute, cuddly thing … Laughter ensued … mostly … a feint … maybe a squeeze if the eyes said okay … a kiss … ‘Mardi Gras’ … ‘Mardi Gras’ … we each said, almost simultaneously..
1:00 … Read previous paragraph.
2:00 … Read previous paragraph.
3:00 … Time to take another break … just not as dramatic as the first one … had to look for Ricky … rule was when … not if … when … we got separated we would remain on Bourbon and stay between two named streets two or three blocks apart … This time, between Orleans and Toulouse … So I started toward Toulouse … meandering along with the crowd … keeping my eyes peeled for Ricky … I found him just before I got back to where I started. … We walked over to Jackson Square … Sat on a bench for an hour without anything happening … Okay, that’s a lie … there was activity and debauchery going on all around us … It was time to watch and not participate … more participation would begin soon enough … resting is good.
4:00 … We watched a band from Jamaica playing drums in front of St. Louis Cathedral. … Harry and I danced and passed their tip jar amoungst the crowd.
4:30 – 8:00 … Lost time …
8:00 – 12:00 … Intermittently searched for Ricky … Found him with two women about 11:50 … we strolled toward Canal chatting about the day when we heard … ‘Mardi Gras is over. Please go home.’
12:00 … Mardi Gras is over … Please go home … there were six riders abreast sweeping Bourbon from Esplanade to Canal … Mardi Gras is over … Please go home … The outer horses on each side were brushing the wall … walking on the sidewalk … We ducked into a bar … Bars were still open … they didn’t have to close … We all knew as long as you were in a bar or on your way to your car and at least one of you was walking like he was sober, they wouldn’t arrest you.
01:00 … Wednesday morning … I’m driving back to Hattiesburg … Ricky is snoring gently in the passenger seat … Slidell slid by … [sorry, couldn’t resist] … Picayune … Poplarville ,.. Lumberton … Hattiesburg … out to the log house to deposit Ricky … Home.
04:00 … Crawling into bed … Entertaining feelings … seeing … hearing … smelling … touching … tasting … Mardi Gras … One more time!
09:30 … NOW … The 4th of July, 2019 will draw to a close in an hour or so… no more jiernts … Happy, Happy
Forever Bisbee 
What a day! I’ve been to New Orleans a few times but I avoid but days. Would have loved to see Mardi Gras many years ago when crowds were more manageable than they are today.
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Excuse me. I avoid BUSY days.
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