Dean and I were yelling about a big night in New Orleans and wanted Bull to show us around. He threw a damper on this. " New Orleans is a very dull town. It’s against the law to go to the colored section. The bars are insufferably dreary. "
I said, " There must be some ideal bars in town. "
" The ideal bar doesn’t exist in America. An ideal bar is something that’s gone beyond our ken. In nineteen ten a bar was a place where men went to meet during or after work, and all there was was a long counter, brass rails, spittoons, player piano for music, a few mirrors, and barrels of whisky at ten cents a shot together with barrels of beer at five cents a mug. Now all you get is chromium, drunken women, fags, hostile bartenders, anxious owners who hover around the door, worried about their lea
