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It was a bitter, cold, mid-afternoon-ish, September day and my wallet was as empty as a co-ed's stomach after Mardi Gras. Questions swirled around my head like rum into a Hurricane. How was I supposed to fund my upcoming trip down to the Big Easy? What would I do if the locals threw me beads? Flash my badge? And most importantly, who exactly was Miss Nola Fringe and why did she keep "confirming our venue?"
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