Yes. This is what happens.
The grand marshal dances. Everybody follows him or her. These guys are my heroes. It’s 97 degrees. It’s around noon. The sun is beating down on him. He’s wearing a black suit.
He dances his way through the entire length of the parade. One and a half miles.
Yes. My heroes. Guys like him. The brass bands. The Baby Dolls. The social clubs. Mardi Gras Indians.
Maybe, especially Mardi Gras Indians. Their suits weight anywhere from 75 to 125 pounds. Think about walking any kind of distance carrying that much weight. Now think about doing that in the heat. In the humidity. Singing. Chanting. Dancing.
I can barely carry a camera that far. Oh wait. I do that walking backwards. Sideways. Getting jostled. Avoiding spectators, second liners and other photographers.
Okay. I’m my own hero. There I said it. Finally.