Broken Sidewalks

I thought about Karrie this morning, when I was in the "eggs and cheese" section of Save-a-Lot. She loves eggs and cheese. I still find myself planning meals that she would like, even though I would never eat them myself.

I want to get some fish and try to smoke it on one of the grills at The Mobile Bay Adventure Inn. I can gather some oak wood from the woods somewhere, or snap it off of a tree along the sidewalk on Government St.

They seem to be protecting the trees here, in Mobile, but not the sidewalks. Most of them are destroyed by the roots of huge oak trees, and in pieces. Some parking lots have spaces where no cars can be parked, because of the encroachment of tree roots. I would hate to be riding my Peugeot English Racer at 25mph down the sidewalk above, and not be paying attention...

Last Link To Karrie Trashed
Last week, I walked to the place where I had hidden my large backpack, and the tent; miles out of town, near the Greyhound station. I wanted to see if they were still there. They were, but the backpack had been penetrated by water. I spent a few minutes gingerly pulling from it, wet shirts, a towel and a blanket. All were moldy, and so I threw them away, and left the pack where it would air out, or be stolen.

The blanket was just about the last physical link that I had to Karrie. After I threw it on a trash pile, I looked at it, and remembered how she and I wrapped up in it on cold nights, and how happy she was when it was clean and "April" fresh, and how she would shake it out in the mornings and hang it up, so that it too would air out, and how she would steal it from me like a thief, in the middle of the night...
A lump formed in my throat as I walked away from the wet, moldy thing, which once was important to us.

It lay there in a heap, like Karrie, after she has had too much to drink.

I decided then, that she is probably convinced that I don't want her.

40 Hours Between Tremors

Another 40 hour period of abstinence from Earthquake Lager ended yesterday afternoon, when I consumed three of them.

I had washed my clothes in the park, discovering as I did that my green pants, (which have lots of pockets,) had been stolen off of the bush where I had hung them to dry. I had tried to match a bush to the color of the pants, but my camo job didn't work. Now there will be someone my size walking around in my pants, and I will have to fight him. (Note to self: Buy a cheap knife at the Shell station...)

After washing my clothes, I chose to walk a mile to a spot near the "abandoned factory" sleeping spot, and hang them there to dry. I haven't had anything stolen from there, yet.

This put me within range of the magnetic force-field of the Earthquake Lager at the Exxon, which was nearby in such close proximity that I was unable to fight against it. I spiralled into the store, flailing my arms and kicking at the air, as if being carried by an unseen riptide; three times, it happened.

I then went to my playing spot and made back one (1) of the dollars that I had spent.

I got to the "abandoned convent" spot early, where I found my friend, Harold, already asleep, and without cigarettes. Harold very rarely asks for anything. He is The Antibum.

I offered him a cigarette when he stirred, set the alarm for The Coffee Club, and went to sleep.
I woke up at 6am., an hour and a half before The Coffee Club commences. Harold was already gone. I had $1.25.

Morning Songs
After breakfast, I went to look for a spot to play "morning" songs. These are songs which, according to Chris, the recorder player in St. Augustine (click on label below for more on him,) must contain major 7th chords. They cannot contain blues chords, because, according to that sage they "frighten people in the morning." Chris plays Christmas songs year-round on his recorder. (Some Christmas songs have major 7th chords, and those are the ones which he plays in the morning.)

Fueled Only By Coffee

I chose the "big clock" spot, right by Serda's Coffee, and there I sat, fueled only by coffee, and telling myself that I was playing for more coffee. At first, nothing happened, and then $4.75 found its way into my case, as I surrendered to the sweat which was coating my body, and ripped into "Eyes of the World," by the Grateful Dead; a morning song because of the line: "Wake up to find out that you are the eyes of the world..." and because of it's E major 7th chord.

I decided to walk the mile to the Shell and use my food card for an energy drink, rather than pay the $1.66 at Serda's for coffee. Tomorrow night is their songwriter's open mic, and I will want to have money to buy a coffee. That guy is supposedly going to record me and stream me up onto Utube, where it could become a "cult classic." Now, I need to practice up on it.

New Orleans Update

Now, Ben, the ambulance driver has weighed in on the debate over the wisdom of my going to New Orleans on the back of a grain car, with a hobo. Ben's comment (which can be seen by clicking on the "comment" section of yesterday's post) was that there is some kind of licence required to play on the street, and it is hard to obtain. The hobo corroborated the part about the licence, but he said that the cops only enforce the ordinance "in season," by which he meant after October. By then, maybe I can be a "resident," by switching my ID over, or something...

So, I guess there is nothing there to be afraid of, whatsoever...