It was the last day of classes for the semester, so the last daily commute to campus. Nice. I am already fantasizing about all the aimless rides I can take myself on between now and January 11, when classes start up again. Tonight, though, I made my regular ride down to the Treme to meet up with friends for a little TV and conversation. I rode down Bourbon Street once I hit the Quarter, which I hardly ever do because of the crowds. But how many drunk pedestrians am I really going to have to dodge at 8pm on a Wednesday? Plenty, it turns out. Bourbon Street on a cold Wednesday evening is funny that way. The bars, restaurants, and strip clubs all have their doors and windows open, Margaritaville pouring out (no, really), so it sounds like its Friday night. But when you peek in those same clubs, they are virtually empty. I hopped off my bike to snap a picture of one of these noisy empty clubs when I heard the smack of mardi gras beads in my bike basket. I heard the hooting coming from the balcony above and looked up to take this picture of the guys, waving to the virtually empty street below. Nope, I didn’t flash them. I got back on my bike and pedaled away, thinking, as I often do in this town, that this place is both New Orleans, and the fantasy of New Orleans, and you’ve got to pay attention to what you’re seeing.