Tara laughed at the singers comic rendition of Carrying your love with me. The male vocalist changed it to Carrying my lunch with me. The first time she had heard this spoof, she had thought it was most bizarre but now she felt like an insider on the joke, and sang right along with him. She raised a finger at the bar staff and an ice cold Corona appeared on her table. The action was starting to heat up as more and more tourists filled the bar.<br/><br/>Around 11:30 her eyes were starting to sting and she reallized that the alarm clock would not be her friend in the morning. Luckily the guests would fix their own continental breakfasts but still she needed to be there for early check outs. Tabbing out, she went out onto the street where groups of people were milling around with 32oz drinks in their hands. At first when she moved down here, she had stayed in a drunken haze. Not really drunk, but definitely buzzed. Now, she stopped with three beers.<br/><br/>Turning off Bourbon street, she followed the crowd to Toulouse and then traveled alone to her door. It was a bright green door, lit well by both street lamps, the old fashioned gas lamps, and a light over the door. She hated coming home in the dark. The old lock clicked and she pushed open the solid french doors to a well lit stair case. Locking the door behind her, she trudged up the wooden stairs and opened the door to her apartment.<br/><br/>She looked around at the disarray of clothes, strewn over the floor of the studio. She knocked off the clean clothes from the futon and shook out her blanket. No luck with finding any friends tonight. She really wasn't bothered. Sleep found her easily.