Pretty Slick

No One Bothers Me
It has been amazing how fast things are moving, now that I do a meditation in the Church Street Cemetary, every morning.
This morning, I woke up at 6:30. My alarm was set for 7:30, in time for The Coffee Club at the Presbyterian Church, but, I arose, remembering that I had wanted to put in an application at the Labor Finders temp place. This is the place where my friend Don, who plays guitar, go his job unloading a cargo ship and made $117.
I Bother Some BumsI got to Labor Finders at 7, and tore through the application in record time. I left there at 7:17 and went and ate at the Presbyterian. There were some guys there, who were angry at me because they had heard me singing "The Bum Song," on my spot the previous night. They threatened me, and told me that I should leave town, because they didn't appreciate the lyricsand that I needed an attitude adjustment. I think they were mad because they were ready to beg me for something, ant the lyrics stopped them in their tracks. I told them that there were some bums who acted exactly like I portrayed in the song, (but not them, though. )
A Job On The Beach; Money On The Horizon
I left there and went to the food stamp office and was approved for another year (gulp) of food assistance. It will start as soon as my new card is mailed to 15 Place. It will have $180 on it. I will be eating healthier soon. Not that I didn't appreciate the doughnuts and cool-aid for breakfast on some days...
Then, I went to 15 Place, to pick up my plastic ID card, which had arrived. There, I learned that a van was to depart for "The Career Center," where there would be a signing up of people who wanted to work on the oil spill cleanup. I got on the van.
Since I had a valid ID (gotten that same morning,) and can pass the drug test, it seems almost certain that I will be hired to work seven days per week, twelve hours per day, and gross a thousand bucks per week, cleaning up the spill.
The complications are that they require steel toed boots, and that they have no way to contact me, outside of calling 15 Place and leaving a message, to tell me when the training classes begin. The training classes are three days, unpaid, and twelve hours per day.
Then, the job will start the next day, at 4:30 am, when the bus will pick us up not far from here, and bring us to the job. The first paycheck may not be for more than a week. They may find me dead on the beach, covered in oil, alongside a sea turtle and a bird.
I have decided to do this, because it seems to have been cosmically ordained. Seeing the Scottish guys at the hotel pool and how much money they were making, then seeing my friend Don with his check for $117, and then, having put an application in that very morning and then stumbling upon 15 Place, just as the van was leaving, left me feeling that I had been blessed.
My music has gotten me in trouble with some bums, who are threatening me for singing lines like these, from "The Bum Song: "

I aint got nothing for the bums;
who sit in the park all day, and twiddle their thumbs.


They don't play guitars, drums or flutes; they don't even own a pair of workboots
They've got their lives all planned out, they're just gonna stand out, with
their hand out
aint life grand out, in the grand outdoors....
I walk through the park and I see them and try to duck
"Yo, come here, guitar man, let me get a buck!;"It will give you good karma; it will bring you good luck
It'll surely come right back to you; the Lord He will provide, but
this monkey on my back, you know; he won't be satisfied..
So, break bread, break it until you're broke
You'll come to find we really aren't such bad folk
We're just pitifully poor, thirsty, tired and half naked
So, give us a beer, don't make us have to take it!"




No I aint got nothing for you bums, not today; go away


Just leave me the hell alone; no, you can't use my cell-a-phone (etc...)

The open songwriter's night at Serda's Coffee is tonight, and that may be a better venue for "The Bum Song."