We last left our heroes wandering around a cemetery older than some US states. Left being the operative word here since we were unaware that New Orleans had “operating hours” for their graveyards. We had just wandered outside the main gate to snap a pic of the historical marker when we heard a woman yelling, “THREE MINUTES AND I’M LOCKING THIS DOOR AND Y’ALL GONNA BE STUCK IN THERE FOR THE REST OF THE NIGHT!”… it was 3 o’clock in the afternoon. Good to know.

Feelings of hunger were beginning to take hold, so wandering down Magazine Street in the Garden District seemed like a good decision. Rum House nachos, here we come…

After exploring the Garden District for the better part of the day, John and I headed back to the Seventh Ward to change into some fresh clothes and head to our predetermined dinner location: the Three-Legged Dog. We had stumbled upon this little hole-in-the-wall Easter Sunday due to it’s crawfish boil sandwich board out front and quickly made friends with the staff, telling them we’d be back for the boil. And damn did they do it up. We proceeded to down probably 2lbs of crawfish with the Milwaukee Bucks game in the background (bless you Blake for putting that on for John) and PBR’s in the foreground; you can take the boy outta MKE, but you can’t take the MKE outta the boy. We probably left the bar around 1 or 2am and as we drunkenly made our way back to the house, you can bet that I was blasting “Old Town Road” by Lil Nas X from my phone like I was a 90s boom box emcee.

Woke up to a debilitating hangover the next day and cursed the gods for my lack of foresight in water consumption. When I could finally move my body, the only thing I wanted was fried okra, convinced this was the one cure to my ailments. So I dragged John back to the Quarter for some southern comfort: a cup of gumbo and an overflowing platter of fried okra, feeling more whole as I proceeded to clear my plate.

It was our last full day in New Orleans so as we walked, we soaked up the last bits of NOLA like french bread and étouffée. I was gonna miss our neighborhood strolls between the shotgun houses and the creole cottages, and of course, the doors…