She loves Bourbon Street at 2:30 in the afternoon on Tuesday, free to walk the streets with an open container, to be drunk at an hour when the rest of the world works, tends to children, or begs the tourists for change. When she’s here, this drunk, she loses her fear, gives the homeless people lucky days. At night, it’s a different story. She sobers up too quickly in the dull roar of the neon sprawling party. She’s conscious of the foul odors, the sweaty bodies, the well-off men who feel entitled to her. Afraid, she goes home early.