Dark Carnival II

Dark Carnival II On Bourbon Street, bars--doors open-- fight to draw the crowd into dank interiors with promises and the sourness of spilled beer on smoke-saturated carpets. Yet skin, frayed satin, and drunken faces are only reflections in smeared mirrors.

The crowd's wall-to-wall eagerness to view forbidden dreams (or nightmares) becomes a crushing mass where anything can happen. A hand or knife can so easily slip in, do its work, then slip away. Again. Though only the morbid or the timid would fantasize that. After all, any dark glimpse is ever more important than threat of robbery or violence.

The adversarial game between mob and law is shifted. The watchful eye of order winks, closes, or simply turns away from the excess. But only until passion sparks a rage. Then, another face appears. No more indulgent father 'neath the helmet. No smile, no wink. Only a machine ready to dispose... Violence is bad for tourists, you see, and tourists business for New Orleans. It's only business, after all.