Krewe of the Fives

We're the float that doesn't move, the morning fête, the oi polloi. Six feet above the street, laughing and dancing and hassling the crowds. We want your beads, your candies, your boiled peanuts, and your pretty wenches. We're the Krewe of the Fives.

All year I live in a crickity crackety apartment that's slowly returning the soil, dealing with palmetto bugs and critters in the walls and an oven that doesn't work. Downtown noises and overflow parking from the hotel down the street. But one day a year, one spring morning when the dogwoods are blooming and folks pack the streets, mine is the best house in town. My friends show up happy, the beer goes down easy, and the marching bands step lively.

I simply can't express how I fall in love, each and every year, with the whole damned affair. If you can, come join us. Bring chips and a smile.