I recently moved into a duplex in Uptown New Orleans. It was about 3:30 on a Wednesday morning when I realized why some people say, “New Orleans is a great place to visit, but I wouldn’t want to live there.”

My next-door neighbor stormed out his front door and began screaming obscenities and turning over furniture on his porch. “F–k Christ! F–k God!” he shouted. Then he began to chuckle, “Praise Satan. When will Satan come? Come and torture us already.”

Normally I would’ve been disturbed by the scene, but I knew this particular satanist a little bit. I had hung out and gotten stoned with the guy a couple of times since I had moved in.

His name’s Wolf, and he’s a 25-year-old Native American who paints his face white and wears eye makeup and lipstick (like in the movie The Crow). The self-proclaimed “Goth Kid” hangs out with 16-year-old kids, and despite the fact that he’s in his mid-twenties, he still seems to be locked into the mindset of a prepubescent kid. He probably gets off on torturing small animals and beats off to the Disney channel. He’s different like that.

I crouched down by the side window in my apartment to get a better view of the situation unfolding on Wolf’s porch. He kicked a patio chair and shouted, “F–k Jews, niggers, emo mother-f–kers. I hate white people, goddam honkies.” He paused for a moment, then went back inside.

He returned with a CD player and put in a Coolio CD, but this was not uncommon for Wolf. It was his evening ritual. He would sit on his front porch and reenact the movie Friday, smoking weed and drinking 40s of Olde English while listening to the movie soundtrack. But this particular night was different; he was way more smashed and violent than usual.

I remember, one night, I was desperate for some bud, so I knocked on Wolf’s door. He came to the door without his makeup. He said he knew a guy with good smoke, so I figured it was worth a shot. He agreed to bring me to his boy’s house but said, “Let me put on my makeup first.” Weird …

I was skeptical at first, because I figured his buddy was probably a 16-year-old “Goth Kid” with the same mannerisms as Wolf, but he ended up being the total opposite.

We pulled up at the guy’s house and walked to the back door. I looked in the side window as we were passing by. The place was illuminated with black lights, and the walls were decorated with glow-in-the-dark posters. I could hear Widespread Panic blaring from inside the house. It didn’t take long for me to figure out that this guy was tripping on something.

“Hey, Wolf. Who’s your friend?”

“This is my new neighbor Johnny,” replied Wolf.

“Come in. Come in,” the dealer said. “You’ll have to forgive me, Johnny. I just dropped some acid, so I’m tripping balls right now.”

The visit was a success. I left the house super-high and tripping on some good acid with an eighth of purple weed in my pocket. This guy just hooked me up, smoked me out, and dropped some liquid acid on my tongue. Now that’s Southern hospitality!

Back to the story at hand. At first I thought Wolf was alone on his porch, but then he started preaching to someone, “F–k this, man. I’ll cut myself right here,” he said, pointing to his neck. “Cut both jugulars. Just to make sure.”

I snuck to my front door and cracked it open ever so slightly. I wanted to see who Wolf was talking to, but there was no one else there – just Wolf, who was now singing: “… I really hate to trip, but I gotta know … I’m the kinda G the little homies wanna be like, on my knees in the night saying prayers in the street light …” He started coughing and vomiting off the side of the porch but continued singing, “… been spending most my life living gangsta’s paradise …”

I enjoyed the live entertainment for about two hours. It’s great to see harmless craziness happening right next door. I’m not one of those people who says, “It’s great to visit, but …”

I love living in New Orleans, the vortex. See you in the future.