Smith, a tattooed beefcake who smoked a fat cigar, added wistfully.Īlmost overnight, the storm deeply distorted the male-to-female ratio of New Orleans. 'I'm sure things will get better, but, you know, it's not as fun,' Mr. I want to see women,' slim, brown-eyed Mr. It is Mardi Gras, after all, and the thinner-than-usual crowds still have an unwelcome surplus of testosterone. But for the single firemen, it is not happening quickly enough. Six months after hurricane Katrina ripped through New Orleans, life is slowly getting back to normal on Bourbon Street.
Male tourists catch bead necklaces tossed from tiny second-floor balconies - often by other guys - as wide-eyed businessmen sidestep the action.Īnd there in the distance, a shapely co-ed entertains a knot of men by baring her breasts for a strand of those shiny beads, a time-honoured exchange that lends Carnival its carnal reputation.
Broad-shouldered labourers wearing grubby jeans stand in line outside strip clubs. Leaning on their fire truck, Albert Apodaca and Ronnie Smith survey the Mardi Gras merriment unfolding before them on a sultry evening in the French Quarter.įrat boys gulp strong drinks from colourful plastic cups.