by Patch O'Furr
New Orleans is a renowned party town. In the French Quarter, on Bourbon Street, you can get potent drinks like a Hand Grenade or a Resurrection in to-go cups, and walk around the neighborhood as boldly as you dare. A walk into some of the restaurants can make you sneeze, because the crawfish boils have so much seasoning, that it pervades the air like a whiff of pepper spray at a crime scene. Signs on murkier streets warn you to walk with friends, and be vigilant. Petty crime seems taken for granted in a place scarred by hurricane Katrina a decade ago. People party to forget woes or live life to the fullest with reminders of mortality all around. (At least that’s an excuse for barfing out the door of a taxi.) There’s many stories about long ago lives held in above-ground mausoleums of famous cemetaries. A tour is a nice calm way to walk off too many drinks, even if guides will tell you any kind of silly ghost story for tourist bucks.