Mondays with Mike: You know you’re in New Orleans when…

St. Joan of Arc Parade. Because. New Orleans.

…You walk and walk and walk and the next morning your legs are really sore, as if you’d walked all that distance on sandy beach because the sidewalks are so addled with cracks and heaves and missing sections.

…The classic New Orleans shotgun cottage your friends secured via VRBO in the Marigny neighborhood has been remodeled and is functional in every way, but the stairs to the attic and an upstairs balcony make you feel like you’re in an Escher print.

Iggy’s, open 24 hours for your convenience.

…Across the street from the classic cottage is Iggy’s, a tiny corner bar that is open 24 hours. Iggy’s has wifi.

…When you arrive you make plans to go to the St. Joan of Arc Parade, the first event of the Mardi Gras carnival parade season, at 6:00 p.m. the next day. On the afternoon of the parade you check for directions and learn that, oh, the parade will be starting an hour later than previously scheduled and oh, the route has also been changed.

Somewhere, Ken is jonesing.

…The next morning, at breakfast at Horn’s a couple blocks from the shotgun cottage, a tatted, dangly earringed, cowboy-booted and cutoffs-wearing waiter apologizes for his watery eye. “I’m sorry, I’m not stoned, I think it’s the glitter from the 12th Day parade (another name for the St. Joan parade).”

…Still at breakfast, you notice that one of the bicycles parked in the rack out front has a naked Barbie doll strapped to the handlebar-mounted basket, a sort of talisman.

…Still again at breakfast, several horse-and-carriages go by. They’re not carrying anyone; the drivers and their horses are commuting to work in the French Quarter, where they will pick up some riders.

Our home away from home.

…Nothing—walls, floors, streets or sidewalks—meets at right angles. The whole dang city has settled into a comfortable slouch.

…Your dog behaves like she’s on psilocybin mushrooms for parts of walks because the invisible sea of—shall we call them organic aromas—wafts everywhere.

…Central Grocery, and oil stains on your shirt from the olive salad on your muffaletta sandwich.

…Snug Harbor, d.b.a., The Spotted Cat. Bywater American Bistro. Herbsaint.

…Dinner with Steven, Nancy, and Printers Row ex-pats Seth and Bess.

…Do we have to leave? We probably better before we gain 20 lbs.

When are we coming back?