New Orleans, in 72 Hours: Menswear Edition


By: Dale

There I was, on the second day of my trip, plodding along Magazine street in knee-high brown rain boots, a sweater, a seersucker jacket, a scarf, and clutching (as elegantly as possible) a golf-sized, fancy, drug store umbrella.

Of course there wasn’t any rain.

The locals told me storm warnings were frequent and nothing to worry about in New Orleans, apparently they noticed my uneasy, upward glances. The pale grey sheet of weather that blanketed the city since I’d arrived had been pulled taut and stifling. The humidity was getting to me and I was running out of time.

But before I left, there was one man I had to find, Mr. George Bass.
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