crimson unnoticed earlier that had made their way onto his prized John Lennon t-shirt that he’d gotten from a friend in New York City. Visibly annoyed to the ever-commercial sounds of Pop radio, his muscular arms completely covered in tattoos of doves, roses and cherry blossoms could easily cause a few double takes. There was certainly more to the lad than met the eye. He reached for the glove compartment, retrieving a small bottle of eye drops. Staring at his weary visage in the rearview mirror, it was evident he hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in a while.
“ I say Juan’s hands down,” Barabbas beamed.
Juan’s Flying Burrito was one of the most beloved Mexican restaurants in town. With two locations in the New Orleans area, it was the one on world famous Magazine St. that held the most nostalgia for him. One of the best places to be on a Friday night, the Veggie Punk burritos along with the Luau Quesadilla were too much to resist for him. Coupled with an ice-cold glass of Don Julio Blanco, the memories made him almost as misty-eyed as the drops of Visine. It was where he had some of his craziest times from college. It was also where he first met…her.
“You gotta be kidding me,” the tall, bespectacled figure in the passenger seat groaned. “Juan’s is badass, but there’s no way it can compare to Felipe’s! Have you tried their steak tacos? And the queso is unreal!”
Nicodemus Jackson was a spry 28-year old with a metabolism that was flat out ridiculous. Barabbas often found it rather agitating how the kid could pile on the food, yet never gain a pound. He could feel his growing gut protruding out over his belt buckle as he went on and on. Close friends since high school, they were a regular dynamic duo. Getting into as much trouble as they got each other out of it, Barabbas was the more sensible of the duo. Nicodemus…not so much.
“I’m not fucking with Felipe’s anymore,” Barabbas fired back. I have spent way too much cash in that place. Their food is pretty fresh but I seriously think they put crack in that queso. Why do you think the place is always packed? It’s like freaking zombies in there!”
Barabbas was no stranger to Felipe’s by any means. Game night on a Sunday was the typical spot to catch Nicodemus betting money on a Saints game. That of course was before the infamous ‘Bountygate scandal’ that left the team without a coach and Nicodemus without his usual scam. With star quarterback Drew Brees carrying the team on his shoulders, the Saints were having a dramatic, Cinderella season. The boys had somehow made it through the playoffs and were now heading into the Super Bowl. With the game now taking place in New Orleans, the city was in a constant state of chaos. For the first time in its history, the Super Bowl would be taking place right in the middle of the annual Mardi Gras season. Military and media presence abound, many wondered if New Orleans would actually survive the madness.
“That Roger Goodell is a real piece of trash,” Nicodemus screamed as if on cue.
Barabbas should’ve seen it coming. The NFL commissioner didn’t gain any new fans with his suspension of sever al key Saints players and personnel, and the city wasted no time in showing its displeasure of him by posting ‘DO NOT SERVE THIS MAN’ signs throughout many restaurants in the city.
“Why don’t you tell us how you really feel brother?” Barabbas chuckled as he checked the rearview mirror.
The street behind him was awfully desolate, painting a visage of a virtually deserted part of town.
“Can you believe that asshole will actually be in our city?” Nicodemus asked. “Bastard did all he could to keep us out of the Super Bowl this year. I would love to run into that cocksucker. Just once.”
“You wouldn’t do a damn thing and you know it,” Barabbas said. “With all the security in town for the
“ I say Juan’s hands down,” Barabbas beamed.
Juan’s Flying Burrito was one of the most beloved Mexican restaurants in town. With two locations in the New Orleans area, it was the one on world famous Magazine St. that held the most nostalgia for him. One of the best places to be on a Friday night, the Veggie Punk burritos along with the Luau Quesadilla were too much to resist for him. Coupled with an ice-cold glass of Don Julio Blanco, the memories made him almost as misty-eyed as the drops of Visine. It was where he had some of his craziest times from college. It was also where he first met…her.
“You gotta be kidding me,” the tall, bespectacled figure in the passenger seat groaned. “Juan’s is badass, but there’s no way it can compare to Felipe’s! Have you tried their steak tacos? And the queso is unreal!”
Nicodemus Jackson was a spry 28-year old with a metabolism that was flat out ridiculous. Barabbas often found it rather agitating how the kid could pile on the food, yet never gain a pound. He could feel his growing gut protruding out over his belt buckle as he went on and on. Close friends since high school, they were a regular dynamic duo. Getting into as much trouble as they got each other out of it, Barabbas was the more sensible of the duo. Nicodemus…not so much.
“I’m not fucking with Felipe’s anymore,” Barabbas fired back. I have spent way too much cash in that place. Their food is pretty fresh but I seriously think they put crack in that queso. Why do you think the place is always packed? It’s like freaking zombies in there!”
Barabbas was no stranger to Felipe’s by any means. Game night on a Sunday was the typical spot to catch Nicodemus betting money on a Saints game. That of course was before the infamous ‘Bountygate scandal’ that left the team without a coach and Nicodemus without his usual scam. With star quarterback Drew Brees carrying the team on his shoulders, the Saints were having a dramatic, Cinderella season. The boys had somehow made it through the playoffs and were now heading into the Super Bowl. With the game now taking place in New Orleans, the city was in a constant state of chaos. For the first time in its history, the Super Bowl would be taking place right in the middle of the annual Mardi Gras season. Military and media presence abound, many wondered if New Orleans would actually survive the madness.
“That Roger Goodell is a real piece of trash,” Nicodemus screamed as if on cue.
Barabbas should’ve seen it coming. The NFL commissioner didn’t gain any new fans with his suspension of sever al key Saints players and personnel, and the city wasted no time in showing its displeasure of him by posting ‘DO NOT SERVE THIS MAN’ signs throughout many restaurants in the city.
“Why don’t you tell us how you really feel brother?” Barabbas chuckled as he checked the rearview mirror.
The street behind him was awfully desolate, painting a visage of a virtually deserted part of town.
“Can you believe that asshole will actually be in our city?” Nicodemus asked. “Bastard did all he could to keep us out of the Super Bowl this year. I would love to run into that cocksucker. Just once.”
“You wouldn’t do a damn thing and you know it,” Barabbas said. “With all the security in town for the
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