NEW ORLEANS — The scene opens on a young man swaying as he tries to steady himself along the side of a building on Bourbon Street. He jerks, and then veers to the other side of the sidewalk with the urbane polish of a well-dressed zombie. After wobbling like lime Jell-O in a magnitude 6 earthquake, he falls and drops his tall plastic cup of rotgut (a poorly mixed sazerac, perhaps?) onto the street. Soon he’s on the pavement in a puddle of his own sick.
Now here’s the bright side of this cautionary tale. It never happened. Maybe it did, but I was never on New Orleans’s famed Bourbon Street to witness this brand of licentiousness. Unless you’re in New Orleans for an epic hen party, or Mardi Gras, Bourbon Street is a place that is best sipped rather than gulped. Give yourself a night, and move on to other pursuits.