In the background, the Cajun music pounds on the ears of the true New Orleans--the smell of gumbo, dirty rice, and red beans escape nearby restaurants. Everyone is concentrating on the beads being thrown from the beautifully decorated floated ahead. On the corner of Bourbon Street, my best friend Amalachi, fights for a feathered spear with a crazed reveler. Men and women wearing feathered headpieces and glittery clothing are tossing various objects from their floats. Children go to nearby stands to get their faces painted, and to swipe a few cans of silly string. I try to catch a flashing bracelet, but sadly, I miss.
Yells come from every corner.
“Throw me something!”
“Over here!”
The sky gets dark, but hundreds of people still stretch their hand trying to grasp a piece of plastic jewelry. Homeless people leave their cardboard boxes to join the festivities. I take a quick look at what I have caught—loads of beads, glow sticks, and plastic cigars fill my three grocery bags.
The crowd gets crazier as the sky gets darker. A little boy almost gets run over by a float. Fights break out; policemen break out as well, twirling their batons, fiddling with their mace cans, and flashing their guns. Gates and chains are placed in front of the street to prevent any sudden movements. My necklace glistens in the light of the full moon. The lights in front of restaurants flicker; hunger overwhelms me. It is almost time to go.
With every second that passes, the level of danger increases. Men with sagging pants emerge from their hiding places. Women take their place on street corners and smoke cigarettes. The streets are no longer filled with people by with loads of unwanted beads and Big Mac wrappings.
In the background, the Cajun music pounds on the ears of the true New Orleans.
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