Stay out late enough and the menace oozes to the established tracks as well.
In '09, I was in town after traveling to watch LSU beat the snot out of us. Later that night, at the Hustler, there was this particular entertainer working who, being the connoisseur of fine gentleman's clubs that I was back then, I knew was clearly in love with me. By the way she let me buy her expensive drinks all night, there's no question that if my debit card hadn't reached its maximum allowed daily transactions, we'd have jumped the broom that night.
Anyway, with all my friends having long gone to the hotel, I had to stammer down Bourbon and Canal at 5:30am alone and clearly out of place. The lingering alcohol went a long way in reducing my GAF but after declining my first-ever offer from a pimp, politely advising a half dozen or more street walkers that I wasn't interested, and seeing the cold stares of too many transients in poorly lit corners than I preferred, I ran Forrest Gump style back to the hotel.
^^THIS. The crowd WT used to run with didn't exactly live by the Marines motto. If we'd had a motto, it would be more like "Each mofo for himself" than no man left behind.
Anyway, watched Prime Time break my heart in the Sugar with that phantom interception in 80 something? I don't recall the year but my story is similar to the Cats.
357 magnums. I remember those drinks and Long Island iced teas. WT partied like it was 1999. And mofo's left WT behind.
Trouble was we were staying at the Dew Drop Inn or something like that out by the airport. I looked after a sick buddy who had been over served and I didn't feel too sporty myself. Wee hours of the morning.
I think most of you have probably heard about me being a bad motherfucker. It's even imprinted on my wallet. Which was empty.
Had to panhandle for a cab to make it to the airport and still owed some. It took forever. And, the real panhandlers don't like it when amateurs try to infringe.
There were mofos there who even scared me. Abd like I said, I'm a bad man.
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