Traffic was nuts, so Marshall took some shortcuts through shady Katrina-ravaged neighborhoods. My white liberal guilt had me somewhat upset that we never got to see the destruction in the Lower Ninth Ward, but we did see plenty of scenes that should embarrass this country.
The potholes were nothing short of enormous, and Marshall raced across them as if we were in a dune buggy. Of course, all of this jostling and bouncing up and down didn’t sit too well with us, and it was here that the roast beef po’ boy in J-R’s stomach decided to come back for an encore. Professional that he is, our bachelor calmly took care of business out the window as we raced through Mid City. I honestly think that it was motion sickness, and not alcohol, that was to blame. Nevertheless, he was now a new man.
Ironically, this happened while we were searching for a place to eat. Marshall tore across town only to find one closed restaurant after another, and I made several phone calls that rang off the hook. Everything seemed to be closed, even the gas station near Lindsay’s house.
We all parted ways, and J-R decided to sleep. Rich was going in and out of hibernation all day, and he opted for more rest, too. It was only 8:00PM, and despite the fact that I had spent the last 18 hours on my feet, I was still alert and ready to rock. I had been getting an optimal performance out of my body, relying on one mere cup of Coke at Tips as the only caffeinated fuel for the day. However, everyone was now down for the count, and I didn’t want to sit around watching Anna Nicole’s judge cry on TV, so I opted for a quick nap.