My mom works at a boutique in the quarter off Royal and Bourbon and it legit concerns me.
I took my feature (my traveling opener for me) down the quarter to Frenchman and we ran into some crust punk screaming at his gf. My friends know me obviously well so when they see me bristle up they got worried and then some homeless dude crashes his fucking rickshaw in front of us and some cat at a bar taking a smoke break just yells “qua’ta at its finest”
I love the quarter, truly. But I’m a red headed cunt in nice suits who one time off St Charles had homeless cunts come up to me said they were going to rob me until they thought I was Conor and then we all had a laugh but man I essentially got kidnapped in Honolulu and had to fake an Irish accent to not get murdered by meth smoking Samoans.
NOLA is way less sketch than I expected it to be.