"Mardi Gras," Remy said between chips. "Can't say the parties up here are as good as the ones back home." He shrugged. "Least the crowds are smaller up here...seeing as there ain't any."
The chips weren't really doing it for Remy, so he rolled up the top of the bag and clipped the clothespin on it again. He tossed it back in the pantry, grabbing a dishrag by the sink and wiping off his BBQ flavored hands.
"Oh, work." He said it like an afterthought. "That's the nice thing about bein' self-employed. Don't have to bring any work home."