“If you ain’t gonna shake it, why did you bring it?”

epub or mobi, with thanks to the original sharer

Two or three pickup trucks parked at the street junction already have barbecue cooking up in the back, with smells of charcoal, hot sausage, and pork chops to drive you crazy. On a couple of vacant lots, there are little white tents also selling barbecue. And you can get beer, cold from the bin full of ice, to wash it down. The band plays “Hi Heel Sneakers,” “When My Dreamboat Comes Home,” “Blackbird Special,” “Iko Iko,” “Second Line,” “Food Stamp Blues,” and “Gimme My Money Back” — it has all the wildness and excitement I remember from the Olympia in the late eighties. The vibe from the crowd is sheer joy, the energy is as tangible as the electrical charge before a thunderstorm, and the mood is forward — to try and drop back down the line would be to defy the impetus. The barbecue vendors have kept pace with the parade, and so, incredibly, have the cold beer salesmen. Over on the neutral ground (what those outside New Orleans would call the “median”), a couple of operators are splitting cigars and adding herb to make “blunts.” Soon, the sweet smell of skunk weed, protected by the sheer density of the crowd, winds up the euphoria another couple of notches.