Obstructed by maimed yachts and flailing sails, the shoreline flickered in and out of view. The once majestic Victorian clubhouse of the Southern Yacht Club in New Orleans was littered with shattered windows and splintered wood from the dock. Framed by gaunt shadows, the hollowed clubhouse glimmered sinister as a shingle-fingered flame erupted from the roof.  Desecrated by rabid looters that struggled for sustenance and salvation- jostling over one another for pig feed, lapping in a communal pond of feces and cellulose, howling in the name of a God who could no longer hear them.

Keep reading