Coming Down

When I arrived home to the quiet, clean atmosphere of Greenwood Indiana, I admit I was disappointed. Where are the drunk people? Why are there no gigantic piles of muddy beads in the gutters, and hanging from giant live oak trees? Where, I ask again, where, is the blatant hedonism?

Indiana has become tame. Not that I thought it a hotbed of entertainment before, but now that I have experienced the sordid, decayed, sexy glory of New Orleans, nothing else will do. It's like an over-ripe peach that drips brown juice down your neck when you bite into it...too sweet, too sticky, on the edge of rot, and perfectly delicious.

My thanks go out to all who made the trip possible, and especially to our host and hostess - I have never been feted with such happy, generous abandon, nor been so delighted to indulge in the fruits of another culture. Expect to see me again soon (consider yourself warned!).