We checked into our hotel, which took some time because the first go round we tried to check into the wrong hotel. Once we had keys in hand, we were off to the French Quarter for some Po' Boys and crawfish.

Finally, after we were all drunk off our asses on that early spring afternoon, we decided to head back to catch some shut eye before we resumed our demise. Once in the hotel, one of the guys couldn't find his "bag." The guys moved their quest to the car. I, however, was drunk out of my mind and already passed out on the bed, drooling. I was jerked awake to the tune of, "Kevin broke his ankle, we have to go to the hospital."

In my drunken state, I thought it was a ploy to get me back to the Quarter for more drinking. Many hours later I found that Kevin really was hurt; in fact he shattered his ankle by jumping from one of the inclines in the parking garage and landing on it. Yeouch! Needless to say he spent the entire weekend in the Loyola Hospital on a morphine drip.

During Phish's single set, I looked down to find a pouch with a nice piece of glass in it. After asking everyone in sight if it was theirs, we decided it was to be Kevin's souvenir.