By james art 
Mother restaurant where Marines love to eat.
Related to New Orleans, Georgia Doogs Andy and I left Colombia, South Carolina, December 31 at 7:30 am, and some will say dirt.
I had visited nola before. In 2000, I left for a cruise ship, moored in the meander Mississippi, to wander on the city streets. I remember buying a book at a Voodoo store. The owner, a frantic woman, shouted, “Do you plan to kill someone?”
“I just do some research.”
I remember also drinking a hurricane in Pat O’Brien.
Twenty-five years, 10-hour driving and 679 miles later, I checked at Marriott on St. Joseph. ” I opened the curtains and smoked the cruise ship there. “I was there, I did this,” I thought.
The media performed Bourbon Street with many interviews on the spot.
New Year’s Eve at N’Awlins … The last and most dark darkness was placed as we headed to the mother’s restaurant on Pudras Street. In the 1938 business, it has long been known as a terrain for Marines, few and proud. There is a feeling of home and jambalay and shrimp and oysters are easy to descend as it should be in the large easy ones.
We did the dinner, we set foot in the night with the crowds of revelators. I stopped shooting my mother’s restaurant. As I crossed Pudras Street to catch up with Andy, a speed car gave me reason to rush through the intersection. Andy asked if I wanted to go to Bourbon Street.
“No, let’s go back to the hotel and watch the game of Penn State Boise State.” The game bored me. Around 3:30 sirens woke me up. You expect this in cities. I went back to sleep.
The newspaper said everything.
The next morning, when I turned on my mobile phone, he blown up, “Are you fine?” I turned on the TV. Shock of shocks. In our fine, civilized era, the barbarians are walking among us. Death comes without warning.
The officials delayed the sugar bowl and people were passing to extend the hotel rooms, to book new flights … followed General Bedel. Some Dawgs left home. We stayed. We had a day to fill now. Games with a bowl and afternoon at Howlin ‘Wolf as the hours passed. Called the legendary bluesman Chester Burnett, Howlin ‘Wolf made a good break. One person was sitting next to me. “Hey, man, you look like Jimmy Carter.”