March 09, 2016 (vol. 125, iss. 85) • Page Image 5
…I t was a Wednesday night in early March. We had spent the day wander- ing the narrow, balcony-lined streets of New Orleans, stop- ping in quaint book shops and swaying to pop- up brass bands in the center square. There was a breeze coming off the Mississippi, bringing with it the briny smell of fish and centuries old stone houses. And vomit. There was a distinct smell of vomit as my friends and I made our way ...…