New Orleans Is a Hole

Decadence is restrained and smothered by the strictest codes of conduct. And you'll writhe naked upon the sands as the sun flays every inch of skin which is then assaulted and hacked away by the scorching, barren wind of empty breath. You wail and pray and grovel on your knees for a drop of water, just a bit of substance. Instead, you must sustain yourself on the scraps of idleness, or gorge yourself on the incessant corruption and muck of indifference. Excessiveness is a virtue. Debasement is a virtue. This is the birthplace of Saint I-Don't-Care. The patron saint of extravagant waste and crippling depression. Enjoy the masquerade of dark, bitter smiles of those too senseless to notice the uncanny resemblance: uptight aristocrat, lackadaisical vagabond. Different uniforms for the same subservient fuck.