There was no describing this eclectic neighborhood. It was like nothing Billy had ever experienced before. Bourbon Street was like a narrow channel of energy and life, as though all the free-thinking people of the country had decided to open a bar or restaurant here.
Everywhere Billy looked, was something or someone, to hold his attention.
It was a hot and muggy night and the air was thick with the scent of spilled beer and fried food. The southern sky felt different to Billy. It was blue-black and the moon seem to hang lower than it did in Montreal.
Or maybe he was just drunk.
It was now close to midnight, and he sat next to Xavier, on the low curb, right on the street, drinking beer out of a large plastic cup. Cops had strolled by them and hadn’t even blinked. How insane was that? He
