Ah, summer in New Orleans. As the mercury erupts like Old Faithful and shirts stick to backs like fly paper, a gentleman’s fancy turns to avoiding dehydration and heat stroke by staying indoors. There’s nothing like that wave of cold, mechanically-produced air to take the edge off looking like you just took a shower with your clothes on.
Alas, there is one thing that tears me from the comforting womb of mother air conditioning at regular intervals throughout the summer. I am speaking, of course, of that public menace known as YARD WORK.