INDIAN VILLAGE: HOLE IN THE WALL

"Army, Navy, or Jail. In 1970s New Orleans, those weren't just options—they were a destiny."

Before the tourists and the bright lights, there was "Indian Village," the northernmost tip of the 9th ward. It was a neighborhood built on a gypsy curse and fueled by the shadows of the past. For Edward L. Betz Jr., growing up meant learning from "neighborhood psychiatrists" like Wayout Willie—men who get you to rob a bank deposit, then a month later introduce you to the person you robbed to watch your reaction.

But the luck of the streets only lasts so long. When destiny closes in, the ultimatum doesn't seem so bad.

From the buckled asphalt of New Orleans to the vibrating hull of the USS Detroit, Army, Navy, or Jail is a raw, psychedelic, and often hilarious journey through the end of innocence. It’s a world of three-day bread-and-water sentences, psychedelic broom closets, and the realization that no matter how far you sail, the moon—and your past—will always follow you.