Sitting in the Clover Grill on Bourbon Street, waiting for a taxi in this grand, giant city,
I shared my sausage, egg, and grits with the lap of my jeans while watching the world
go by, as I savored the experience of one last cup of strong, chicory flavored coffee.
Mark Twain said "New Orleans is an old world city famous for its cuisine and Market Street
chicory" - it's true. Aside from an ambulance racing by with screaming sirens, this morning
was very quiet, as a street sweeper began to clean the debris of the wild party celebration:
Plastic cups, bar straws, empty cigarette packages, broken strings of multicolored beads
and fake gemstones, a tarnished toy voodoo doll, beer cans, crumpled potato chip bags,
and torn flyers announcing the newest gay club in the infamous French Quarter district.
Somewhere, a homeless trumpet wailed as the dirty sidewalk bore witness to the sins
of its carnival revelers the week before, including striking resemblances to vomit and blood, reminders of the drama played out by the colorful, feathered masks of the crowd.
Now, everyone was either sleeping, or floating in the river as they washed out to sea.
My cab never arrived, but the rain did. An old, mangy dog ran down the street with a
broken chain dragging behind its legs, and I knew it was time to find my way home.
Honorable mention
Adding your comment:
And congratulations to all the winners!!! 
This was a fun contest, thanks for hosting!!! 
Im kidding Artis...kidding!
