Junkie Fuzz

A pink plastic necklace hangs from a green push pin that holds a pop art postcard securely above my desk. It makes me think of Mardi Gras and I wonder once again if I have ever really been to New Orleans. I remember a discussion about the Jazz festival some years ago, but I'm not sure if that is because I was at the Jazz festival or it was just something to talk about. When you're an ex-junkie, your memories disappear like a tractor in a Texas sink hole and your brain is a smörgåsbord of fleeting moments and fuzz.
My friend's mom was abducted in New Orleans and put in the trunk or backseat (the fuzz again) of someone's car. She was eventually thrown out by the river, hours later, still alive, but forever changed. Her driver's license appeared, weeks later, at the convenience store down the street from her house. She has since moved back to the East Coast where she pops pills and works in an emergency room.
The Rio Hotel in Las Vegas has a Mardi Gras in their lobby every hour on the hour. I have been to that, I even got some necklaces. I always thought The Rio was a New Orleans themed hotel, but recently someone reminded me that the name of the hotel is The Rio...you know, Rio de Janeiro and it's probably a Carnival they have in their lobby every hour on the hour...not a Mardi Gras. "Oh," I said, "you're probably right."