We retired to the parking lot, and most of the Hevy Duty Krewe looked like it had seen better days. People were beaten and battered, and the warm comfort of the bed beckoned.
But not for me.
I was fired up and ready to keep on truckin’. Thankfully, Teddy was in a similar mindset, so we grabbed some reinforcement beers and began the two-or-so-mile walk to the start of the Zulu.
When we reached our destination at St. Charles and Jackson, we took the opportunity to relieve ourselves in Igor’s. This was my first visit to this legendary shithole, and as far as I can tell, Igor’s is only there to receive your bodily fluids and little else. Honestly, what do people see in this place other than the fact that it’s always open?