Bourbon Street, 7 am.

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I got up just after dawn, it was like an abandoned battlefield outside, the milky morning light scaring Friday night revelers back into the holes they crawled out of, leaving neon green hand grenades behind. I love the French Quarter, but will never understand Bourbon Street.

I walked the foggy streets down toward the waterfront, cursing myself for leaving my real camera behind. People appeared through the fog like ghosts, coming, going, disappearing again. I wish these streets could talk, there’s so much history here, you feel it everywhere, the walls stained with all kinds of mayhem. It will forever be one of my favorite places in America.