The clock strikes midnight. Fat Tuesday melts away. From two thousand miles I visualize a distant time when Columbia’s Most Raucous and Rollus Krewe held court, transforming our town’s most storied Cajun/Creole cafe into a Bourbon-soaked Carnival, slinging oysters and mudbugs, Sazaracs and hurricanes, etouffee and Tchoupitoulas, king cakes and beads. Long ago Glenn’s Most Raucous and Rolllus Krewe scattered to the winds..some of them have turned to ash. On this Fat Tuesday, I raise an Absinthe to my old Krewe mates, with one fervent wish: Laissez les bon temps rouler!
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