I'll keep this short since I'm packing for New Orleans, where the youth, middle-aged and elderly of the crime fiction world will assemble for Bouchercon. It'll be my first time in NOLA in almost 30 years, and the last time I was there it was by accident, sort of. I was returning from a seven month trip to Central America, but on the night of my return, in January, a big storm hit New York City. My flight was supposed to be from Belize City through New Orleans to JFK Airport, but because all flights into New York were cancelled, I had to lay over in New Orleans. Not the worst thing in the world, I know. I got a cab from the airport to a hotel somewhere near Bourbon Street, as I recall, and spent the money I had left at the end of my trip on one night of drinking, eating, and whatever kind of wandering around I did in the French Quarter. It's a hazy memory at this point, but I remember I had a lot of fun that night and that in the morning I had a delicious breakfast, in a French Quarter restaurant, of pecan waffles.
Unfortunately, my plane, as the rescheduling called for, did take off that afternoon, and I returned to New York.
Well, it'll be a longer stay this time, which means, I suppose, I can pace myself a bit when it comes to indulgence.
We're in the realm of delirium in a scene that captures a certain irrepressible spirit about a place...