At about 3am last night Alan’s roommate came in and asked aloud “Who the fuck are these people?” Not having an eloquent answer in mind, I pretended
to sleep. Repeating “who the fuck are y’all?” he woke up Mike and Scott, who responded “what’s up dude.” Eventually he seemed to realize who we were
and went off to bed.

In the morning (well technically the afternoon) we hang out with Alan and his pregnant girlfriend. He’s 19 soon to be 20, the same age I was when I
met my first girlfriend. They seem like a good couple, and he seems quite responsible. At one point, discussing trading in a car over lunch, I’m
pretty sure his girlfriend says “They always jew you pretty bad on that.” Yep, Louisiana! They’re not religious though, so that kinda cancels it
out, stereotype-wise.

We head to Baton Rouge for the show, driving Alan there while his bandmates come from New Orleans. The information we have is that it’s at a place
called the Drive In, in the Kenilworth Mall. Sounds interesting. We get to the Kenilworth Mall and there’s no place called the Drive In. Then we
get word it’s actually at Matherne’s—-well, that’s the supermarket in this mall. Hmm... when the other members of Backhand arrive it becomes clear
that either this show, or the venue itself, was moved, but none of us were told about it, and then the show got cancelled. Oh well.

That means last night was the last show of the tour, because none of our Florida or east coast shows ever made it to fruition. Scott and Mike make an
interesting remark of reflection--that in the end, this tour was a disaster, and not worth our time or our money--but that we wouldn’t give it back
for anything. So I guess it was worth...never mind.

We end up deciding to drive down to New Orleans, check out the goings-on there, and then start the lengthy drive to Hilton Head SC, our final
destination before heading home up the east coast. Mike’s parents have offered us a place to stay there, and we can hang out on the beach.

In New Orleans we walk up and down Bourbon St., which appears to have (d)evolved into a perpetual Mardi Gras, albeit a scaled down one. Lots of
people wield beads from the balconies above, but their standards for throwing them seem to be pretty low. Only in one spot are girls actually
disrobing. It is on a large pedestal with a large crowd of guys around it. There is a steadily repeated ceremony going on: girl steps up, lifts
shirt for several seconds, and one of the guys solemnly anoints her with a huge collection of beads. But the crowd in general doesn’t seem that
excited when it happens, and it’s understandable why--it’s really not that exciting, even the first few times. I guess half of them are probably
there to take pictures and put them on the net anyway.

Overall I’d have to say Bourbon is still the craziest red light district I have seen anywhere, crazier than Vegas or Paris or old Times Square.
Everyone is drinking “hand grenades” and “jesters” in huge containers on the street, there are strip clubs with action visible from outside, and of
course there’s the public nudity, with no apparent attempts at regulation.

After a cajun meal with Scott eating a vegetarian Po’ Boy, we have had enough, and depart for Hilton Head around midnight. Our root will take us
across the southern chips of Mississippi and Alabama, and across the entire Florida panhandle, before going north through Georgia to Hilton Head,
right on the southern corner of South Carolina. Somewhere around 2am Mike declares that he has tons of energy and thinks we should keep going all
night. That is where I leave this entry.