Yesterday we had a yard sale to get rid of some of the stuff we threw out after having the clutter consultant in.

It was a great success, yielding a profit of over $200, and it also taught me something about the social role of yard sales, which are uncommon in the UK.

Some people came through the gate, looked over everything in seconds, and disappeared, clearly not finding what they were looking for. But others were determined to buy something, and spent half an hour or more picking over every item and bombarding us with questions before making their decision.

Several times, people sat down and exchanged life stories with us. One guy had arrived in New Orleans in a similarly unconventional way to myself: he rode randomly chosen freight trains from New York, ended up here, and liked the place so much that he stayed.

Another was the owner of a strip club in Bourbon Street, and I asked him how business was. He told me it was booming, not least because the conference trade, which collapsed after Katrina, was getting off the ground again.

At the moment there are tens of thousands of ophthalmologists in town, many making a beeline for his establishment after the day's last PowerPoint presentation on extorting vast sums of money out of unfortunate shortsighted people. The last conference had been for US police chiefs, but they had sensibly stayed away from Bourbon Street.

He bought a little portable grill, and I imagined lots of near-naked women making themselves toasted cheese sandwiches while they waited to go onstage.

Much of the stuff we were selling was Pam's old clothes, which attracted considerable attention, mostly from men. The first time it happened, I pointed out 'That's women's stuff you're looking at', but he ignored me and bought a couple of skirts. As the day wore on, we sold maybe fifteen more items, and maybe ten of those were bought by men.

Several people were in fancy dress. One guy wore a top hat so battered it looked like it had been hit by a cruise missile, and told me it was 150 years old. Another was clad in an extraordinary Mad Max assemblage, all painted in silver: miner's helmet, sleeveless singlet and lots of studs and leather. As soon as he came in, he spotted a rather fetishistic chain belt of Pam's; our eyes met, I said that's perfect for you, and he bought it.

This is a city in which many people have wardrobes full of fancy dress and bring it out at every opportunity: Mardi Gras, St Patrick's Day, Halloween.

There was more exotic clothing on the menu today, when we held a farewell party for neighbours and friends. The Saints, our local football team, were playing at home, so we timed it to start after the match, and several guests turned up in team gear, complete with gold-glitter eyeshadow and fishnets.

This is a city in which no one cares what you look like or what you get up to in your bedroom. Here, people parade around in exotic costumes for the hell of it, shedding their old identities and making up new ones as they go along.