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No vampires yet in the Bayou. Anne Rice and “True Blood,” y’all are full of shit.
Did I mention that the South is super-morbid? If it wasn’t so hot, I am convinced you’d see more folks in corpse paint. We took a streetcar out of the boundaries of the old city to walk through the famous above ground cemeteries. For you old people, it was like that scene in Easy Rider but without the prostitutes or the drugs or Dennis Hopper.
Fresh dead people still get interred in the cemetery district, so among the old tombs stand newer monuments. Some the cemeteries are semi-private, but luckily we don’t believe in private property so we blasphemously violated the corpse’s privacy. Some of the older tombs have suffered damage, either from the storm or age. The results of decay are extra creepy:
The Hotel Montleone serves fancy cocktails in a high-class hotel. The bar is a circular carousel, like in an amusement park, including seats with carved animals on the back.
Sitting down, it took me a moment to realize the bar rotated slowly, circling the bartender and his wares. We befriended an elderly couple from Claremore, Oklahoma. They were excited that we would be passing through their state on our trip. The woman had worked for the army during the Kennedy administration. She said she worked on Top Secret anti-Soviet invasion planning in Alaska. She was like a combination of Patrick Swayze and Sarah Palin, but older: defending us from imminent invasion. We drank Sazeracs, which is a tasty New Orleanian beverage.
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