I circle uptown and find this one bar that has the flair of New Orleans, called Le Bon Temps Roule. It looks like I’m in the historic district. It’s a neighborhood on Magazine. How cool! A bar in the middle of a family neighborhood.
The homes in this area are aged, as towering oaks line the sidewalk. There’s a subtle charm that appeals to me. I have a great feeling about this little adventure.
The closest parking spot I can find is several blocks down from the bar. The joint must be packed tonight. It’s not too bad. The street is lined with generous light, giving a quaintness to the old, cracked sidewalk. I park at the corner and kill the engine, grabbing my bag and sliding from the car. I lock up as I take a deep breath.
I’ve never gone to a bar by myself, but I can’t sit home another
