Bourbon Street tells its tale in the most direct of ways: The pavement is thick and relatively soft, chunks missing here and there. The sidewalk is composed of shiny red bricks, many of which are broken apart - but never missing. In the same manner are the locales beaten up but never abandoned. The sleaziest of bars and sex clubs have found their way into what has become the most appraised part of the eastern south, at least as far as partying goes. There are no big, glamorous clubs or bars - the running theme of decay is all-encompassing. The neon announcements of female impresonators, sex-toy shops and 'topless/bottomless' bars augment the stringent smell of alcoholic heave. It is as if all the spilled daiquiris, all the crowd sweat and individual vomit had been absorbed into these red bricks and is now lending them their pregnant and charismatic shine, giving off the sickened party vibes.