Ground Zero At Grand Isle

Somewhere around day 50, I had hit my wall. I couldn’t spend another moment glued to my couch watching that broken pipe spew it’s uninterrupted flow of oil somewhere at the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico, listening to crude explanations of wacky backyard science experiments with names like “junk shot” and “top hat”. I needed to get out my apartment, get out of New Orleans, and drive down to the coast and lay eyes on this thing for myself.

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