Mar. 05, 2003 - 11:20 a.m.
Stuck in traffic for over two hours, I kicked off my shoes and watched the drunken revelers make their way down the street: to their cars, to bars, to the houses and beds of the equally drunk partner they picked up for the night. I was listening to Skynard because Southern rock seemed somehow fitting as the fog rolled over the city and blanketed us, one and all, to hide our sins and excesses from the sight of the gods.
Today an entire city begins repenting and guilt lays heavy over many heads as they wake to sights they would much rather forget.
But at midnight, as I lay in bed, feeling the exhaustion in every pore and aching in places I was unaware I even had, I could feel the silence that grips New Orleans only once a year. The bells of the Cathedral chime and the horses make their way down Bourbon one last time, clearing the streets of stragglers. The party ends when the police officers yell out their cry, "Mardi Gras is over. Go home. Mardi Gras is over."
Skin is tucked back into clothes that reek of beer and piss. Cleaning crews start their day as they sweep up the horse droppings and the broken bottles, the shattered beads and the flotsam of thousands of local partygoers and the tourists who still don't understand that their vacation has ubruptly come to a close.
The hush spreads and encompasses the entire city. It lasts for only a moment, but in that silence, you can hear the wicked laugh and the sigh of contentment that comes from her heart. The lady of decadence, called New Orleans, has had her fill this year and she is pleased.
Settling down for a much deserved nap, we dream of the next carnival season and the enticements that await.
You missed one hell of a party!
