The crowd really didn’t seem to want to leave, and I didn’t either, but all good things must come to an end. I was facing a six hour drive back to Memphis that I could not postpone due to jury duty, and some of the bands, like the Hot 8, incredibly had only a brief rest period before having to be at another engagement. But I came away from the second-line experience with a feeling of exhiliration more than one of fatigue. Somehow, as I stopped in rather ordinary Metairie for coffee and food on the way out of town, it seemed as if I had passed between worlds. With I-10 gridlocked for some reason (perhaps the Saints game), I headed north across the Causeway instead, and back to Memphis, my mind replaying the day’s amazing scenes. 

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