Thursday, April 29, 2010

Space Blanket

Yesterday, I woke up early, having not been able to sleep much. I debated upon going to retrieve Karrie after her release from the jail, or not.
I thought that, if she wanted to be with me, she would find a way to Jacksonville. She knows how to find the campspot. If, on the other hand, she preoccupied herself with panhandling and getting drunk, she would probably not have the resources nor the wherewithal to find her way to my spot.
I am waiting 7 to 14 days for the arrival of my birth certificate, which I finally managed to order on Monday, through the Vital Statistics office in Dorchester, Ma.
The cost was $28 for the certificate, $37 for 'expedited mail," which reduced the wait time from 20-30 days, down to 7-14.
I decided to play the ramps near the departure point of the Purple Line to St. Augustine during the day, and take the last Purple bus out at 5:20 pm. with whatever money I made, added to the 21 bucks that I had left, after sending the Commonwealth of Massachusetts almost 40 bucks.
The ramp playing went ridiculously. I was run off of one after 10 minutes and 3 bucks. I was run off of the next after 10 minutes and another 3 bucks.
I went to the bus stop, determined to get off the Purple Line at the Rt. 16 and 95 ramp in St. Augustine, and play some more.
That I did.
It was almost nightfall, and, staring into the sun, I made another 11 bucks or so. I then rode the 4 miles back to the campsite and prepared to sleep. It was the coldest night for April 29th in the history of St. Ausustine.
I had a flimsy fleece blanket. I lay there, thinking that, of all the things that had been looted from the camp after Karrie and I moved out, there was a plastic bag containing two "space blankets" in a certain spot.

They were still there.

They are like big pieces of aluminum foil, supposedly impossible to rip and purported to reflect back 98 percent of one's body heat and keep a person alive in sub-zero temperatures. I rolled myself up like a burrito in them and found that I was warm enough to sleep.
I set my alarm for 7:30, thinking that I would go and hide in the woods near the jail and wait for the emergence of a figure wearing an ocean-blue shirt covered with depictions of various fishes of the sea on it.
I couldn't sleep, and was debating upon just going back to Jacksonville in the morning; still not sure if I wanted to encounter Karrie, for fear of falling back into the same life of ennui.
I listened to Michael Savage on the radio, on one of the only stations which came in upon my AM radio. Maybe the cold had something to do with that, but, I could get New Orleans, and Atlanta fairly well, but not Jacksonville, and hardly St. Augustine.
was ranting about the illegal immigrants and the havoc which they are reaking upon this nation. He said that they comprise one third of Federal inmates, in for rape and murder and drug trafficking; he said that the hospitals on the border are having to close because of illegals obtaining services that they are not entitled to. He also said that the school systems are stressed because of them, too.
The New Orleans station was drifting in and out and, every time Savage had some interesting point to make about the Mexican immigrants, the station faded out, and in faded Hispanic music from a neighboring Latino station.
It should have been funny; him saying that "These illegal immigrant Mexicans are tainting every aspect of our society, and....(fades out, replaced by a bunch of Hispanics, playing accordians and gleefully singing...)
Karrie Shows Up
Morning came, myself only having been saved from being covered in dew by the space blanket, and the alarm sounding at 7:30 am. It was too cold, in my opinion to go to a spot in the woods to spy upon the jail, waiting for a fish-shirt clad figure to emerge. I tried to go back to sleep. The sun was coming up and was a warming factor. I eventually sat up and drank some caffeine.
Then, I was startled by a voice behind me.
It was Karrie, wearing the fish shirt.
We hugged and kissed and exchanged stories.
She looked very much rested and younger, almost girlish. Her voice was even sweeter than I had remembered.
Then, she wanted to get some beer.
She had gotten out of jail and had already panhandled one. She wanted more.
I am at the library now, planning upon playing the ramp until such a time that the last bus out of here will come by that spot.
Karrie is supposed to come with me, if she can be at the bus stop at the appointed time. That's a tall order, sometimes.

Monday, April 26, 2010

I May Just Move Away From Her

I am in Riverside, the the "willow" branch of the library. It is a small branch, commensurate with the branches of the tree for which the branch was named.
I am over my 3 day drunken binge, which I undertook after thinking that I would not be able to obtain my new ID, nor work ever again, nor have enough money to get out of Jacksonville before becoming a wanted person.
My guitar strings are rusted. Every time I go out and play, I am risking being seen by one of the half dozen cops who have told me that they would take me to jail the next time they saw me playing.
I thought that Nina would give the the promised 500 bucks for signing the divorce papers all at once. I foresaw a new backpack, new eyeglasses, and a bus ticket to freedom. Instead, I have been wallowing in Jacksonville, making mere peanuts before being run off by cops, who are now all privy to my exploits.
I wake up in the morning and drink caffeine shots, which I get for free out of the Kangaroo coffee rack. I listen to the radio, and then bag up trash and hang up dirty clothes, after pouring liquid laundry soap on them so, in the event of a rainstorm, they will become washed.. I then throw the trash away and ride my bike to the Gate station, where I pick the ashtray of half-smoked butts.
Then, I try to snif the air and decide where I might play for a while and not get arrested. I play for a while and then go look for food in the dumpster. I return to camp and start a fire. After the office building closes, I go and fetch water. I eat and then go off to sleep. I wake up depressed many times.
There is no room for Karrie in this situation. She would burden me and slow my progress out of the camp each morning, by opening a debate over what should be done, and where "we" are going to go and what "we" are going to do, and usually, do "we" have enough for a 4 pack of beer...
I woke up early this morning and felt as though I didn't want her there with me. Somehow I have withdrawn from the addiction to her, in a sense. It seemed to me that there would be nothing to gain from having her with me.
The cuddling, I recalled as clinging.
The feeling of sheltering and supporting the weaker sex, impressed upon me the feeling of being sucked dry by a leach.
The fact that I need to go in a whole new direction, and that living in the woods has become old, given the fact that I am not working and saving and hoping for a better life, and that in the new life there will be no room for her, and her ability to make a "home" in the woods; gathering wood, doing laundry and dishes, etc.
She needs to get into a shelter, or a program, because the panhandling well is going to run dry, sooner or later.
I need to get into a shelter or program, and/or find a way to play music legally. The rampside spots are going to run dry, also.
I don't know what to tell Karrie now.

Saturday, April 24, 2010

I Am Going To Play Music, alright

I am going to play music on the side of the road and do the jail time whenever it comes along.
I am sick of waiting for Nina to peel me off another bill, so as the keep me around for meetings with lawyers etc. I should tell her to shove the rest of the money up her ass and then go my way. I don't care if I am broke, that never stopped me before.
I am going to play as much as possible.
Karrie is getting out next Thursday.
I will play on the spots where the cops warned me of jail "if I ever see you here again," because I just don't really care. I hide my money, so they can't take it at the jail, and they never give me more than one day for playing music.
My birth certificate is going to be 45 bucks.
I remember a time when I was drinking with an illegal and a cop came. He asked us for ID.
Like a "good little boy," I handed him mine.
The Mexican shrugged his shoulders and said something like "I no have ID."
The cop, seeing the work shirt that he had on, asked him how he got a job with no ID.
The Mexican, who previously had "no English," piped up and said that he had had an ID when he got the job, but then lost it.
The cop looked at him and said "Get out of here!"
The illegal got out of there.
The cop then called in my information and wrote me a ticket for 100 bucks. Good boy.

Thursday, April 22, 2010

El Matador

It is going to cost me almost 50 bucks to get a copy of my birth certificate. This will wipe me out and only give me the "opportunity" to work, if I could ever become hired.

I can't work here and have been being fed by Nina, enough to keep me around to suit her purposes.

I don't think I have work opportunities here, because I am not Mexican, or of any other group that looks out for their own. Whites are on their own. I should have been Indian, or Jordanian, or Jewish, Russian, or even Black!!!

I am white and a vanishing breed, especially with a president, who is a mouthpiece for who knows?

So, because the Mexicans are holding all the labor-intesive jobs and getting paid under the table, (paying no taxes into the system and ready to obtain free hospitalization and care, of course, should they need it (what a country)) -all at the expense of the real tax payers, and the employable white guys are collecting unemployment from the system, because they can't work for the wages that the fine Mexicans, who are victims and only here to steal and work and rape (allegedly), are willing to work for. What a fine economical condition.

And the Mexicans that smirk at me as I sit at the picnic table at the Gate, unable to go out on the side of the road and play music for tips, because it is considered panhandling; them going in to microwave their lunches, which they prepared at home for pennies on the dollar...them smirking at me, the "American who can't get work under the table" like they can...the Latin music pouring out from the truck with the name of the landscape company emblazoned on the side. Them tweeting and text-messaging to Mexico, saying that there will be more american 100 dollar bills on the way. Them not realizing how close they are to getting their brains smashed from behind with a steel rod, as they bite into their burritos.

I have nothing to do, besides waiting for Nina to string me along with more money. It is omasculating, the way I recall it when I lived with her, and the reason I left her.
I have lost the power to provide for myself, and it is more of a big deal than one might think.
I am sick of it; yeah, and I am sick of asking others to help me.

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

May-Hem Is Common-Day

I am being manipulated by the woman that I married 12 years ago, a marriage which allowed her to achieve citizenship and to send her son off to college at a reduced rate, him thus becoming a US citizen.

Now, for some reason, she wants a divorce; and fast.

Her half brother (the one with all the money) has recently died.

I think that he probably left a hefty sum of money for Nina "and her husband", if there should be such a person alive upon the dissolution of this....blah blah blah.....
45 Bucks An Hour!
She probably wants to keep the money, in order to support our 28 year old, unemployed, unemployable son, Michael. Michael "Can't work," no, how could anyone work, when their mother is worth a couple of 'mil' and all the job is paying is 10 bucks per hour?
Michael burns up 45 bucks an hour talking to friends in Russia on the phone. I've seen the bill! I've PAID the bill, after Nina sent the phone company a Money Order and neglected to fill out the "pay to the order of" part, whereupon, the phone company re-billed her for another 650 bucks for that month of Michael talking and laughing and giggling to Russia, and Nina sighed and filled out another Money Order and said something like "These people crazy..."

Michael can't work; just can't....
I would not put it past her. Every piece of mail that I have received at her house has been torn open and then re-sealed. What does this say about the level of trust involved here?
We have two weeks before the divorce becomes final, and I intend to talk to the lawyer involved about the possibilities present. Nina is in a SUPER hurry to get this divorce. I think that there is something going on.
She said that she would give me 500 bucks for my participation.
She gave me 20 bucks the first time that we met. I didn't go out and play because I didn't want to go to jail when I had 480 bucks waiting for me the next day; so I gave up maybe 40 bucks there.
Then, we had to meet again. ; -she gave me 30 bucks and told me to meet her again in a week, when more when more papers had to be signed. She gave me 100 bucks then.
I have not been working my spots. The money has just kept me afloat. I had a whole list of things to buy after she told me she would give me 500 bucks.
I was going to renew my ID. (20 bucks)
I was going to get new eye glasses (I have been blind for 8 months now) (80 bucks)
I was going to get a big backpack, enough to hold the tent, a sleeping bag etc, for travelling. (90 bucks)
I was going to get an I-pod, so that I could learn current music and bring my act into the 21st century. (40 bucks)
I was going to get a bus ticket out of here, (where I will soon have warrants popping up on cop's screens, (just like Karrie)) and start a new life somewhere. (45 bucks)
I was going to do all of that. I had it all figured out on a scrap of paper, but....
Nina is feeding me the money bit by bit, and I am consuming it on everyday expenses, while, at the same time not playing on the streets for fear of being arrested and missing out on the next "installment," of 100 bucks or so...
So, instead of having my ticket out of here, I face the possibility of being stranded in Jacksonville, with nowhere to play to make money, having consumed the promised 500 bucks just on living expenses and hanging around here for a month, at Nina's beck and call, being fed little by little, enough to keep me here for her purposes.
Nina won't push me.
I've never been angry at her, now that I think of it, which is certainly a testament to her. I don't think she will change, after we are legally divorced.

If I tell her that the bus to Charlottesville is a thousand bucks, she will say something like: "Oh my God,... so expensive!" and then she will peel me off ten crisp Ben Franklins, as if nobody ever worked a day for them
I often used to wonder, had I been avaricious and demanded more and more, if she would have complied, like the good Russian wife, and if I would have been driving around in a Mercedes, like the dumb-ass Russian guys that I see at Starbucks all the time, whose wives families probably have money..
It's good to be the ex husband of a moll!
May your well be indeed bottomless, (and no, I don't want Michael on the weekends!!!!.)

Maybe Michael Can Work

Her mobster half-brother is dead, the whole Russian-mob "family" that came over here in the early 90's, financed by the plundering of the National Treasury in Moscow, or somewhere, where diamonds and gold were stolen and brought to America, (yeah, that heist) well, the key players are all dying now, early if you ask me (average age of 55).

And there is Nina and there is Michael and there is Illoyna (my step-daughter who was shielded from the knowledge that her mom married an American, especially a long-haired guitar playing one) and there is not much else left of the dynasty. Some say that Anastasia survives to this day.

There is something going on.

She is one of the nicest women that I have ever met; (as are most Russian women) and I don't think that it will proceed badly. I hope she has my best interests at heart.

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

On My Own

I don't know what's bothering me the most right now; Nina divorcing me, Karrie breaking up with me, or the fact that I can't get a copy of my birth certificate.

It seems that I have to go 1,100 miles to get it.

Sometimes things have to get a lot worse before they get better.

I sent Karrie a nasty letter last night. I still put 6 bucks in it, though. I told her that she will never find me when she gets out.

Monday, April 12, 2010

Into The Thousands

Pakah! (-see ya later, in Russian)
I met with Nina and her lawyer. She forked over 100 bucks for his first half hour (much of which was spent on him telling us his fees and how he charged.)
She then gave him 400 bucks, so that he would initiate the paperwork. This was half, and enough to get him going.
We went back today (Monday,) Nina gave him the other 400 bucks. She then gave him 409 more bucks, in order for him to file something. She will hear from him about a hearing, to be set 20 days or more in the future. She will meet him in front of a judge, who will just stamp everything and push it aside, since, we are not contesting anything. Nina doesn't want the 75 bucks which I clear every month, and I don't want Michael (our 28 year old, unemployed, unemplyable, drug-addicted son/stepson) on the weekends; or ever.
Nina has given me money, so that I wouldn't have to play on the street and be visible to cops, who might arrest me and throw a fly into the ointment of her plans. She told me that she would give me 500 bucks, but, gave me 20 the first meeting, 30 the second, bought me lunch and cigarettes and snacks, etc.
Now that the thing won't be finalized for another 20 days, she probably plans to conive a way to keep me around. She gave me 100 bucks today. I asked her if she was "subtracting all this" from the promised 500 bucks. Her answer was ambiguous. She asked me if I wanted to pay off all my fines in St. Augustine, so as to not have to fear the Law. I told her that it would be over 1,000 bucks. She didn't flinch. I once extimated her "worth," at about 2.5 million dollars. She has certainly spent at least half of that in the 11 years since I met her; hell, Michael's bi-annual rehab runs into the thousands!!!
I told her that I couldn't get the 500 bucks in small pieces, because daily expenses would eat it up. I lost a lot of income (and maybe three meals and a hot shower at the jail,) by not playing the ramps this past week.
I need to renew my ID, get new eyeglasses, a cellphone, a big backpack which will hold the tent and a sleeping bag etc, and I would like an i-pod, so I can hone my craft and learn songs which are more modern than 1988.
She brought me to the DMV to renew my ID, after I told her this. I was told that I need 2 proofs of "residence," a Social Security card, a birth certificate and...that's it, just those things.
We took a form, upon which Nina can sign and affirm that I "indeed" reside with her. She can bring in the phone bill, the water bill, etc and prove that residence. The birth certificate, she was unable to locate. I am working on contacting my mom, who I hope will be able to walk into the City Hall and obtain the thing. The Social Security card, will hopefully just involve me knowing where I was born and what my mother's maiden name is.
Nina has succeeded in keeping me here for at least a few more days. She will wait untill the hundred bucks is surely (based upon her keen understanding of me, after living with me for a year,) near extinction, feed me another bill and so on, I'm sure. She is pretty clever.
It's hard to believe that she couldn't find my birth certifacate. She is meticulous in regards to documentation, if anything.
So, now, I go to call my mom, explain things (I may just buy the cellphone now, It would pay for itself during that one call....)
It is actually boring not being out, playing and making money.
Karrie On
Karrie's last letter was not a bolster to my hopes for a future with her.

She is under the care of the jail shrink and on some kind of medicine to help her sleep. She has physical problems, which she had been ignoring on the outside, while preoccpied with getting "some liqour," most of the time. She was almost incoherent in her missle, and sounded as bad as she has at times, after too much Jack Daniel's Whiskey. Only, there's no whiskey in jail.
She will be out 4/29/10.

Nina's hearing will be shortly after that. I plan upon being in Georgia by then, unless something like Nina offering to pay all my fines happens. Then, I would be free to be in St. Augustine. I feel like I have graduated that city though, and need to chase my bliss. My bliss seems to have gone north for the summer.

Thursday, April 8, 2010

As Per Our Agreement

I woke up this morning, pretty early. Usually, when I HAVE to wake up early, I just want to lay there. I usually have some kind of caffeine, or "5 hour energy," to see me to a wakeful state. This morning, I didn't, and so, I wanted to get up and run to the store, or to Starbucks, in order to get something to wake up with. By the time I got to the store, or Starbucks, I would be wide awake anyway, though.

I listened to a little bit of the Dan Patrick Show, and they were talking about Tiger Woods.

I have my own opinion of the man, based upon my wealth of experience in life.

The man is a perfectionist and driven to be the best that he can be in every endeavor.

He has a beautiful wife, Elin, whom he loves dearly, and he wants to be the greatest lover to ever "play the game," for her. He wants to be bigger than lovemaking; worldwide. He wants to have his own brand of tiger-striped condoms, perhaps.

The man was merely practicing, getting in his "reps." He knows the importance of repetition in developing skills. Imagine how many times he has hit a golf ball...

What he was doing, in his "escapades," was merely akin to going to the range and getting in a few "practice balls," so to speak. He was honing his "skills," for he benefit of Elin. I understand it...

He wanted to come home, walk into the bedroom and think: "Elan looks good; my "swing" feels good, and I like my chances"

An Encounter With Nina

As per our agreement of the previous day, Nina and I met for dinner. We, or rather she, decided upon the Chinese restaurant, called The Wok-N-Roll, which is almost directly across the street from the path which lead out of the woods from where we stay. We purposely directed the path there, knowing that the Chinese were the last people who would ever call the police and tell them that strange people were coming out of the woods directly across from their restaurant. Chinese people seem to keep to themselves in that way, and hence, the path. Besides, when I am doing well in life, I patronize the Wok-N-Roll, and buy white rice and shrimp.

It is interesting that Nina chose this spot for a rendezvous. I think she knows more about me than I might think, like, how could she know that the restaurant was directly across the street from where one of the paths to our campsite emerges...mere coincidence???
Two Letters
We met, Nina bought the whole lunch, during which she presented me with two pieces of mail. One was from Jeff, my ex-brother-in-law, the other from Karrie.
Karrie said that she had gotten the last monies that I had sent, and "I spent it all." She wished a happy Easter.
Jeff had sent me some money, which I looked at as my ticket out of this place.
A Divorce Is A Divorce, Of Course, Of Course
Nina had said that she wanted to meet and to "talk."
I knew that it was probably to talk about us getting a divorce, for whatever reason.

We had a pleasant dinner; she called me "baby," and was the embodiment of the beautiful, cultured woman whom I had come to know, all those years ago, when I lived with her. I marvelled at myself and how much of the Russian language that I remember, coming to realise how much of it was about food and drink, and the simple things in life...

She eventually came around to suggesting that we get a divorce. It had been so long, life was so different back then, and well, I don't see myself becoming an aristocrat any time soon....

Now, her husband in Russia has died. Uri, her half-brother has died. Alex, her other half-brother died 10 years ago, I remember. She feels disenfranchised from the family; the family which found me for her, as a way for her to achieve citizenship, and to allow our stepson, Michael, to go to college as a US citizen, thus saving them more than enough money to offset me living with them for a year; a year in which I was discouraged from working. It was a year of wine and song; and roses, to boot.

The union had no "god" involved, though it had fragments of love.

The "Family" is in fragments, and for whatever reason, she asked for a divorce in the most charming and loving way that the thing has probably ever been asked for.

I acquiesced (not only that, I agreed.)

She then told me that she would give me a certain amount of money, which I won't disclose here.


I jokingly asked her if I could rub lotion on her body "one more time," and I actually saw a look on her face, which was somewhere between fear and consternation...interesting, human nature...

"Just joking," I said.

She offered to put me up in a motel. She probably did so, so that she would know where to find me on Saturday, when we are to meet "quickly" with a (her) lawyer, to seal the deal.

I declined the offer, choosing my campfire and the raccoons, instead. If I was with Karrie, though, I would have accepted. Karrie loves hot showers.

I left, full of white rice and mixed vegetables, and went to the Gate and bought a Money Order and a stamp and mailed Karrie 9 dollars. Then I went to the tent and slept. I only had a few bizarre dreams, par for the course after eating white rice and mixed vegetables and going to sleep.

Tomorrow, I call her to set up the appointment with the lawyer.

3 Bucks
She encouraged me not to play today, giving me 20 bucks, and telling me to relax and take a day off. The last thing she wanted was for me to be arrested and throw a monkey wrench into things.

I went out and played anyways. I made 3 bucks and then a cop came, followed by another cop.

The leading cop's vehicle said "field training," on it. I imagined that he was training in the field. He told me "Move on, or you're going to jail; we don't allow soliciting!"

He is being trained well.

I didn't argue, because he might have wanted to show the training officer in the trailing car just how tough he could be on "crime," and might have tried to hurt me, whereupon I would have had to beat him to the ground, took his weapon from him and shot him with it (just to wound), then written a song about it. I didn't need all that. I took my 3 bucks, left, and got some peanuts and now I am at the library....

Wednesday, April 7, 2010

Grabbers (or How Does That Grab You?)

I am ducking and dodging The Law. I'm in St. Augustine, where my life is "worthless."
"My love is strong, and it pushes me onward"
I came back to grab whatever wasn't grabbed, when Karrie and I left here.
I discovered that everything which we hadn't grabbed HAD been grabbed (by someone.)
This is "par for the course" in St. Augustine.
I'm leaving on the last yellow bus out of town, -don't know when I'll be back again-
"I Don't Know What To Tell You"
I saw Larry briefly, last night, while keeping an "eye out," for the bike cops.
I told him I needed a place to lay my head, and maybe a blanket; I had missed the last yellow bus out...
"I don't know what to tell you, we've been staying at Dee Dee's for the past couple of weeks..."
I know what you can tell me, Larry; you can tell me: "I remember that night when we were staying off of the canal in Mandarin and I was curled up and shivering on the ground under a flimsey blanket, and you came and threw one of your two sleeping bags over me, whereupon I relaxed into a comfortable sleep." You might have said something along those lines...
This was God's way of telling me "See, there's nothing here for you in St. Augustine," for those of you who believe in Him.

Photos Arrive

The Ocala pictures arrived from the Lidgeley's.

More on them, and more of them, later...

All Shook Up

Plus, more on John's Wedding, which he decided NOT to have performed by an Elvis impersonator, even though he "thought about it." He thought about it??? He's joking, isn't he??

Elvis: "Do you John, promise to not be cruel, and to love Ester "tender?"

John: "I do"

Elvis: "Ester, if John is in sickness, or poorer, or the Kentucky rain is pouring down; Is that alright, Mama?"

Ester: "It is."

Elvis: "John, are you a hunk of burnin' love for Ester?"

John: "I am."

Elvis "Will you be Ester's teddy bear?"

John: "I will."

Elvis: "Then, by the power invested in me, as the King of Rock -n- Roll I now pronounce you all hooked up! (hey, hey hey!)

Thursday, April 1, 2010

Wish It Was "April Fools"

The computers here at the Gateway branch of the Jacksonville public Library are SO slow, I don't know what the problem is. I suppose they are that same speed that all computers were 15 years ago, when they were 486's -no pentium or nothing....
I am playing every day. I am selecting new and creatve spots. Today I was run off by a cop, after discovering a spot which seemed great. I made a quick amount of money, and then the cop came. He was trying to be hard core and scare me, I could tell. Of course, the Jax police have just taken a public relations beating for shooting a 2 year-old girl, who was in a car which was car-jacked by a bank robbery suspect. The car was shot 42 times, by 5 officers, one of the shots was a shotgun blast. This is the public service which we all enjoy here in Jacksonville.
I lost my train of thought, but, yeah, I didn't argue with the cop, just picked up my stuff and moved on....
Just minutes before he became a bank robbery and carjacking suspect shot dead in a hail of police gunfire, Jeremiah Mathis sent a text message to his oldest sister.
Cachandra Mathis said it was about 2:50 p.m. when she received the last in a series of what she thought were catching-up messages from her 31-year-old brother, who had moved to Jacksonville from upstate New York in December.
“He said, ‘I’m just trying to keep my head above water,’ ” she said.
Just after 3 p.m., police say, Jeremiah Mathis robbed the Wachovia Bank on Baymeadows Road, then commandeered a car at a nearby Wendy’s drive-thru.
Shortly thereafter, five officers shot 42 rounds at Mathis and the car. Inside were an innocent woman and her two children; the youngest, 2-year-old
Daniel Crichton, was critically wounded. His mother, Jo-Ann Cooper, was shot in the foot. Daniel remains hospitalized in critical but stable condition; Cooper's condition is reported as fair.