With any luck, this will be the first in a series.
Tonight on the way back uptown (around 8:30), I had an interesting, repetitive conversation with a drunk man on the bus. At various times he: bet me a hundred dollars the Saints will still make it to the Superbowl; asked me to guess how old he was (he did this twice, so I blew his mind the second time by correctly saying he was 54); asked me why I wasn't married with kids yet; offered to mow my lawn; criticized (I think) the people who came down to New Orleans after Katrina to help gut houses but then went home; said I would be mayor some day; and said that when we close our eyes, there is no more black and white. Turns out he lives three blocks away from me. If he said his name, I did not catch it.
Oh boy!
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