I heard from Doug the Drummer, that Karrie is in St. Augustine. Doug met her as she was on her way to get;
Let me make a quiz of this
- A: A bag of Potatoes
- B: The Latest Dean Koontz novel
- C: Sunscreen
- D: A 4-pack of Steel Reserve High Gravity Lager from Old Towne Liquors on San Marco Boulevard.
I will give the correct answer next week, so stay "tuned."
This morning, I woke up with $1.95, and no cigarettes. I figured this was the beginning of the time when, I would stop smoking and drinking. I felt pretty good, having not drank much the previous day. I realised that if I didn't crave a cigarette, nor a beer, then I would have a pretty stress-free go of it. Afterall, they were serving breakfast at the Presbyterian Church at 7:30, and I had set my alarm for 7:10, so as to be out of the stairwell of the building behind the Presbyterian Church.
I started to walk towards the church, then, decided to look for half-smoked cigarette butts in the parking lot. I had heard voices coming from the lot all the way up until 3 am. They were probably revelers and Lakers fans, celebrating the way the Lakers smoked the Celtics. I figured that they might have littered the parking lot with butts, which could be broken open and re-rolled, so as to sideskirt putting one's lips on the same filter as one of the hepetitis C carriers of Mobile. I didn't find any at all. I crossed the street and proceeded down the sidewalk in the direction of the Presbyterian church. They serve coffee.
There, under a bush, was a cigarette box. I decided to check it, though I don't normally do so, in case there was a cigarette left in it. It was full, except for one. I think it might have been from someone who had quit smoking, but then had bought a pack in a moment of weakness. After smoking one, that person just threw the rest into the bushes; probably so his wife wouldn't see them and say "That didn't last long!" about his attempt to quit. That's what I thought. Now I had $1.95 and a full pack of cigarettes, minus one.
I went to the Presbyterian. The first guy I saw asked me for a cigarette. I gave him one, acquiescing to the philosophy that if one is "blessed" with good luck, one might spread the "love."
Then, I sat on the steps to wait the next 10 minutes before the place opened. Another black lady asked me for a rolling paper. I had only one, so I told her that I had none. If I had told her I had one, then she might have hounded me for it. Instead, she asked me for a cigarette. They can see the outline of a box of cigarettes in your pocket, don't kid yourself.
Breakfast was good. Then I went to play at my spot, which I had dubbed the "ant" spot. There have been no ants lately. I think they sprayed.
It being a Friday, people were more generous and I made 11 bucks, before a cop came and asked me to give him my signs. I lost "Street Musician Stimulus Package" and "He who doesn't strum, doesn't eat" to him. He said something about "begging," I wasn't really paying attention.
I walked up Royal Street. There was a store with sundries out front, at discount prices. One basket had majic markers for a dollar. I almost bought one. Making a new sign would probably pay for the marker, in time. Their razors were expensive. I left.
What a thrilling, exciting day, so far.
I ate at 15 Place, where I also sold two cigarettes for a dollar.
Now, I am going to try to get the rest of the 23 bucks for my ID. It is Friday night, and, if I can't get it tonight, I need to seriously think about hitch-hiking out of here to a place where people appreciate music AND realise that the person playing it gets charged for things when he goes to a store, just like them...
Now, to the Karrie Letter.