Mother Nature has a constant period and she has it on New Orleans. If you've been you know the dew-like paste permanently waxing everything from concrete to metal to souls to the air inside our "upgraded" Starwood Preferred Guest "suite". There is no real reason to be in New Orleans or for it to be. It exists as our country doesn't agree with genocide - or any of the finer points of Hitler's wise side. We regrettably don't agree either, but only because the Marines staying down the hall escorted us to a human shielded-drink at Laffite's Blacksmith Shop on the edge of the Quarter. There was good jazz and we don't go to the Quarter alone at night no matter the severity of cabin fever.
Longest continuously open bar West of the Mississippi, check...no electric light, check...
freaky ghost-like pianist, check...and the bare necessities for a breathtaking culture...check!
Gun shots, e.g., are more muffled, almost endearing in Metairie, however. There are just two or three abandoned cars of low value noted along its major thoroughfare. You'll likely not be held at gun-point for healthy sperm or an organ. Sparse are the homeless and even less-sparse are the homeless with recently-living fowl in their hands.
There are few visible street signs in Mayor Ray's city and those that are findable are out of position, on the ground, and/or make no sense - it was like that before Katrina, so don't give us that shit. But in Metairie, if brave enough to ask, you might just get detailed directions to the nearest Hooter's from a local obtaining the simple and subtle sense of responsibility for the general welfare of common folk. We thank you for that one, Metairie, even though you were wrong. It was late, like 4pm. We knew you were already drunk and we respect that.