June 16th, 2014 New Orleans, Louisiana
Wet. Everything was soaking wet. From the stucco facades of the town homes on Saint Anne Street to the T-Shirts of the already drunk tourists wandering the Bourbon Street in the late afternoon, the whole city was dripping. Despite only being mid-June it was already obvious that this summer, like every one before, was going to be a scorcher, the daily Thunderstorm appearing right on time at four pm signaling another long hot season ahead. Brief in its fury, the rain passed almost as soon as it began but at least briefly dropped the temperature. Now having stopped, the cobblestones of French Quarter glistened from the water on its surface and reflected back the neon lights of the bars throughout the city, all preparing for happy hour that was soon to begin. The stifling oppression, like a scalding hot wool blanket sadly rapidly returned as steam rose from the puddles on the street. Now the heat was worse being both hot and wet.
Stepping out of his apartment stairwell onto Saint Anne street, August Le Blanc, (Gus to his friends) began his slow nightly saunter up towards Bourbon Street. Rumpled and messy, Gus always had the look of someone who had just woken up, his whole demeanor and appearance exuding a certain sexy casualness. Wearing one of his trademark loud and garish Hawaiian shirts, fully open as always to expose his well chiseled furry chest, he yawned and stretched as he stepped out onto the street, his afternoon nap having fully refreshed him. Completing his outfit, he donned his ancient and ripped tan cargo shorts and flip flops, looking very much the part of a typical French Quarter bohemian resident.
Breathing in deeply, he smiled as the odors of the city rushed into his nostrils. The perfume of New Orleans is a complex blended stew of delicious Cajun food, stale beer and pungent ubiquitous mold from the perpetually rain soaked city. Oddly both intoxicating, delicious and repulsive all at the same time, the smell is not for all tastes. To Gus however the scent smelled like heaven as he truly loved the city and the unorthodox lifestyle it provided him.
Rapidly approaching his mid-thirties, Gus was incorrigible, fully devoted to the free lifestyle the French Quarter encouraged and the endless stream of easy pussy it allowed him to enjoy. Fully enjoying the erotic delights that his perpetual adolescence provided, his good looks, relative wealth and the infinite supply of drunken female tourists kept him quite satisfied. Where some of his friends, and all of his sisters, now had children, mortgages and a host of other "adult" problems, he avoided such things like the plague. Owning his own video game design company, run out of his apartment, the money it provided and the odd hours he kept left him much time to thoroughly enjoy himself. Tonight he intended on doing just that.
Walking down Saint Anne street he smiled as he saw the neon sign of "Zeke's Bar and Grill" reflecting off of the puddles on the street. Deliciously seedy, the bar looked as if it could collapse at any second but was his prime hangout and shockingly always packed. Tucked onto a side street just off Bourbon Street, Zeke's was not on the normal tourist circuit, but did a brisk business, mostly of locals. Walking inside, Gus's face brightened as the regulars all announced his arrival.
"GUS!!!" the patrons cheered as he walked inside.
"Hey guys!" he replied with a smile as he sat down on his regular stool and Zeke poured him his usual, bourbon straight up.
"Hey man!" Zeke said with a smile as he passed Gus the drink. Looking up at the clock on the wall he added "You are early."
"That I am Zeke, that I am. I had a good day today and what better place to come celebrate than this place, the most celebratory spot on earth."
Zeke's was a good place to celebrate as it was a virtual temple to bad taste, so over the top and horrific in its lack of style or organization it was a masterpiece. The long and ancient oak bar was slanted at an angle having been warped during the flooding of Katrina. The practical effect of this, which the ever optimistic Zeke took as a sign of good fortune, was that drinks could be passed to patrons at the far end of the bar just by placing them on the lacquered surface, the glass slowly sliding down the bar by the force of gravity. Several small tables with mismatched chairs were placed around the room and in the back was a moldy, cracked pool table, its green felt pockmarked by rips and tears on the surface. "Commanders Palace" this was not.
All along the walls, which were a puckered and peeling white stucco, hung every holiday decoration known to man. Behind the bar was a tiny tinseled Christmas Tree, perpetually lit and covered in fake snow. "Happy Easter" announced a sign above the small black and white TV, festooned with bunnies and colorful eggs. Hanging from the low ceiling were various strands of colorful lights and garland; a third being orange jack-o-lanterns, a third green shamrocks announcing Saint Patrick's Day and another third mysteriously wishing some boy Joel Stern a "Happy Bar Mitzvah". Scattered throughout the rest of the tiny bar were menorahs for Hanukkah, Pilgrim salt and pepper shakers for Thanksgiving on each table, and patriotic bunting announcing "Happy Independence Day" over the doors to the restrooms.
Grinning, Zeke looked at his friend and winked. "Well you know me, I do like to create a festive atmosphere." Topping off his drink, Gus smiled and knocked it back fast slamming the glass hard down on the bar, obviously indicating a desire for another.
Zeke, like his bar, was also a monument to bad taste. Completely bald, no inch of his body below his neck was not covered in either tattoos or piercings. Huge and imposing at six foot six and three hundred pounds, he was a French Quarter institution. Like his bar, Zeke chose to decorate his body in the same haphazard manner as he did his business. On his chest was tattooed a beautiful lifelike image of Bettie Page that contrasted sharply with the "Thug Life" gothic script carved into his neck. No irony was intended by the small Teddy Bear placed next to a flaming skull with a snake exiting its eyes inked beside the full image of Our Lady of Guadalupe artistically rendered on his biceps. Gus never had the heart to tell his friend that the Japanese script that was rendered on the back of his bald skull did not say "Enlightened One" like he was told, but actually said "Enormous Dumbass". Obviously he had been a victim of a tattoo artist with a sense of humor.
Sitting at the bar were three of Gus's lifelong friends: Doug Schone, Skeeter Banks and Snook Jones, and from the glassy eyed stares on their faces, obviously their happy hour had started much earlier. All three had grown up with Gus and had remained in the quarter after high school graduation. Other's had gone to college or the military and now years later had homes and children, but not these three. Hopeless stoner fuck ups twenty years ago, now as they approached their mid-thirties they still were fuck ups. They had always looked up to Gus as kids, and now that he was successful and wealthy as an adult they still did.
Smacking a hundred-dollar bill on the bar Gus smiled. "Zeke, a round of drinks for everyone!"
"Yes sir!" Zeke said smiling back as the three friends at the bar cheered while their drinks were poured.
"Gentleman!" Gus announced as he raised his glass. "I propose a toast to the glorious country of Japan; land of sushi, Manga and freaky freaky tastes."
"Amen to that!" Zeke replied, remembering his stint in the Navy and his stationing at Yokosuka during the seventies.
Continuing, Gus said "And the country where my new game "Zombie Strippers Apocalypse 4" just was launched and already is a big hit after just one day. I just got the first sales reports back this morning and the numbers are phenomenal."
