We're in Plaquemines Parish, being eaten alive. Teeny, tiny gnats are everywhere. Not the kind that just cluster in the air like they're having their own private party, but mean, aggressive gnats that huddle around your face, try to get up your nose -- and bite.
The smell of trash is enough to choke on. But its hard to tell where the trash ends and the homes begin.
Right now, I'm standing by what once was a Blue Bell ice cream freezer. The flies inside are feasting on Rainbow Sherbet. I know this site was a gasoline station once. But there's absolutely no clue as to whether it was Exxon or any other brand.
The only sounds are: crows crying from the trees and the FEMA convoys heading further south (we're told they're cleaning up debris). Spray painting has become a key form of communication: on homes and cars. Some say: DO NOT BULLDOZE. Others simply say: JUNK IT.
This is the worst damage I've seen.