by Red Cotton
Sudan Sudan Sudan... That parade last Sunday was utter perfection: small, manageable and architecturally interesting route through the 6th ward; sunny, light breezy weather; dark fine brothers in purple imported leather dress shoes showing off precision footwork, TBC Brass Band playing all the New Orleans favorites, Bittles Vittles grilling sausages and chickens and the man with the “cole cole Heinekens”. If that parade were a dessert, I’d eat it with a tiny spoon. If it were a dance, I’d drop it low upside down through a limo rooftop. If it were a lover, I’d draw it a hot oil bath and make it a plate of fried chicken, stuffed bell peppers and crawfish pasta and serve it wearing something Amber Rose- (Hoe?)ish. Every parade should bring it like Sudan or pay penance by facing a wall and kneeling on uncooked rice until they learn to come just as correct.