Louisiana in September was like an obscene phone call from nature. The air--moist, sultry, secretive, and far from fresh--felt as if it were being exhaled into one's face. Sometimes it even sounded like heavy breathing. Honeysuckle, swamp flowers, magnolia, and the mystery smell of the river scented the atmosphere, amplifying the intrusion of organic sleaze. It was aphrodisiac and repressive, soft and violent at the same time. In New Orleans, in the French Quarter, miles from the barking lungs of alligators, the air maintained this quality of breath, although here it acquired a tinge of metallic halitosis, due to fumes expelled by tourist buses, trucks delivering Dixie beer, and, on Decatur Street, a mass-transit motor coach named Desire.
Tom RobbinsTag: new-orleans louisiana scent smell alligators decatur dixie-beer french-quarter honeysuckle magnolias
Boys, the longer you wait to get my requested prehistoric attack dogs, the more chance we have of people we care about getting hurt, more hurt, or killed. Oh, and don't hurt the alligators--they're a protected species.
Gini KochTag: humor alligators
Stimulated by the juice, I believe, men have even been known to ride alligators.
P.G. WodehouseTag: love men alligators
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