I'll Give Up Flying Dog When Pigs Fly!

The Royal Treatment
I went to get more apple juice, and then went to wash up at the park, even though one doesn't sweat as much when on a juice fast.
I played on the corner, crosswise from the Big Clock, and made not a cent.
I was playing music fueled by apple juice. (Nobody took a shine to it; it had no appeal, and as the eve went by, none were tempted. I think I offended them at some core level...)
It was a good time to have my first unproductive outing in Mobile, I suppose, since I already had my apple juice, and wanted nothing more.
The guy, who had come out of The Royal Cafe the previous evening and told me to "find another corner," came out again, at one point. He was standing next to another man, who was dressed in the same sky-blue button up shirt, with the same white apron, Royal Cafe emblem and all. They stood there, glaring across the street at me. One of them put his arms out with his palms skyward, as if to say "What are you doing?"
I was across the street, and not in front of the cafe at all, and probably not on their property.
I continued to play. There was hardly any foot traffic, and this was probably the true source of his crappy mood. This had happened in St. Augustine, when the businesses were going under, due to the economy. Some of the owners lashed out at the street performers, before ultimately folding their tents and leaving town. The cafe guy had no jurisdiction over the corner where I was sitting, unless he owned the whole block. I kept on playing music for people on apple juice. I would have played some Fiona Apple, if I knew any."I Tried"
I think he called the Panda Express, a block up from where I was because, shortly after he and his co-cafe guy went inside, from out of the Panda Express came an Asian guy, who stood glaring at me and clearing his throat and looking agitated. He was probably trying to communicate with body language, which is lost upon me, and has been, since my eyeglasses broke about 6 months ago. I don't really want to see much of what I am "missing," as a matter of fact. Frustrated thus, the Asian guy went back inside The Panda Express, and probably phoned over to The Royal Cafe to tell them "I tried."
Eventually, I left of my own accord, and went to Howard's sleeping spot, and got to sleep early.
I have no money, no appetite, and could care less about a cigarette or a drink of liquor. These are the immediate blessings of Dr. Christopher's 3 day fast and cleanse and mucous-free diet.
I will sit in the graveyard and maybe work on some songs. I might play at Serda's open mic night, tonight, though. I will be flying with no Flying Dog as a co-pilot.