29
New Orleans
October 11, 2014
My panel had been s**t.
I’d barely slept, and I had been even more hungover than I’d thought I’d be. It hadn’t helped that I had a half-dozen texts from Ash about last night that I didn’t know how to answer or have the bandwidth for.
When the girls begged me to go out on Bourbon Street, I was ready to put the whole day behind me and dive straight into a Hand Grenade. We slutted up our outfits for the night—teeny miniskirts, plunging necklines, impractical heels, and beads. So many beads.
Trish led us down Bourbon. People called down to us from wrought iron balcony railings. Religious zealots patrolled the streets, demanding we turn away from sin. Everyone drank from long plastic tubes filled with sugary concoctions so potent that one could knock you on
