New Orleans, Where Wallets are Returned

I am in New Orleans. A group of like-minded individuals has been issued maps and instructions for a pub crawl. We finish playing Scrabble to explore the French Quarter. I feel jumpy from too many Mountain Dews.

The pub crawl instructions say, "order a Blues Buster," but this drink is not present at House of Blues. We improvise and order something blue. The faces of Billy Holliday and Ella Fitzgerald, sculptures from behind a glass wall, express their love to me. I have this thought prior to the first drink of the night.

As the rest of our group arrives at the House of Blues, four of us move on. We have a great time at the first four pubs, then one of us does not feel well. Instead of going to Pat O'Brien's for hurricanes, the final item on our agenda, we go back to our hotel rooms. I could write more about our visit to the various bars, but memories may be fuzzy.

I need a spare key when I arrive at my hotel. In the morning, the recollection of not having my wallet becomes even more real.

I try to check to make sure that my credit cards have not been stolen but the battery on my Treo is dead. John wants to show me the trolley. We tour a daytime French Quarter.

My last use of the wallet was to purchase drinks at 711 Bourbon Street. At least, that is what I think. I check the map and instructions, where a phone number for the 711Club is handy. I call and ask if they have my wallet. "As a matter of fact...."

I walk back to the 711 Club and retrieve my wallet with $85 cash, two credit cards, and two ATM cards.

The pace is a little slow. What with global warming, the place may be sinking into the ocean. But, I like New Orleans.