Photo by George Dureau, a New Orleans photographer who specialized in photographing “different” sorts of men, quite often erotically. A friend of mine used to bartend in New Orleans and while she was aware of his art and its importance? Whenever he walked into her bar, she muttered and cursed under her breath. Often it took the police to get him out. Dureau is dead, now. Drank himself to death you know. This friend tells me he mostly paid his tabs (his photography had made him quite wealthy) but really felt he should have paid more just for the trouble of having to deal with him. And more than a few times, he had prolly completely blacked out about owing her money. (Hers wasn’t the only bar in NOLA he was thrown out of... )