I Miss Vermont

"R. J.," The Heating And Air Guy

This morning, I woke up with $4.93, up $4.61 from yesterday, or approximately 1,540%.

I had slept underneath the HVAC unit around the side of the church, after my sixth sense had told me not to sleep in the exact same place as I have been doing for the past few consequetive nights. I just had "that feeling."

Thomas, for example, changes his sleeping spot regularly, and is rarely in the same place two nights in a row (assuming that nights line up in rows.) He is pretty wily in that regard and probably inherited that particular trait from his grandfather, who very well may have managed to shoot President Kennedy, and then avoid capture.

I decided that underneath the unit was the place to be, especially given the shirt that I found.

There is a company which launders uniforms, and one of their clients must not have paid their bill, or have gone out of business, because the launderers trash bin had a bunch  of shirts of the type that Heating and Air technicians wear, with name tags sewn over one breast pocket, and the name of the company over the other. The shirts were clean. I selected one, after reading all the name tags and choosing an alias. Now, I am 'R.J." (the "repairman") when I crawl out from under the HVAC unit, to whomever might espy me.

I slept pretty well under the thing, and was pretty well hidden from view. I was only startled once, when the unit kicked on at about 5 am. It had gotten down to 60 degrees last night, and I suppose the church needed a little blast of hot air (and there was nobody in the pulpit to supply it.)

Blinded By The Light

I went out on Dauphin Street before that, full of apprehension about my ability to make any money to add to my 32 cents. It was a Tuesday night, afterall.

Much to my delight, I noticed a gaggle of teenagers, most of whom were adorned with plastic tubes full of brightly glowing liquids of myriad colors. They were wearing them as bracelets, necklaces, or just carrying them. This only meant one thing to me: a show at The Soup Kitchen, which is only two blocks from the beer store. I ascertained that this was indeed the case, by inquiring of one of them on this subject. There was to be a performance by an "techno hippie type band." Fine with me.
I positioned myself in front of the peanut store, which is the mid point between The Soup Kitchen and the beer store. I like to play there, because during the day they will run a musician off from there, saying that only a certain combo of banjo and trombone, who are their friends, are allowed to play there. There is a heightened element of adventure, and an added thrill, which arises out of knowingly defying the peanut store's owner.
After a couple of minutes of playing for the glowing youths as they passed to and fro, I had scored a dollar, and went into the beer store to "redeem it." I was reminded that I owe the beer store 31 cents from Sunday night. It is some kind of cosmic joke to me, the fact that when I had woken up that morning, I owed every cent in my pocket, exept one, to the beer store. Some might say that "someone" is trying to tell me something.
Fortified by one beer, I went back to the spot. I was asked by a couple of girls if I had a knife, and if so, would I cut open their glow-tubes, so that they could pour the liquid all over themselves, and thereby achieve a more "glowing" effect.

A Spitting Cobra, Spitting.

I produced my knife, saying: "I live in downtown Mobile, of course I have a knife."
Taking the girls tube (so to speak) and holding it with one hand, I cut into the end of it, wherupon the bright green glowing goo shot up directly into my eyes, like venom coming from a spitting cobra. It stung like hell. I couldn't open my eyes for a few seconds, (enough time for a real cobra to finish me off.) I guess I should have been paying attention to what I was doing, instead of looking past the tube, at the girl. Some might say that "someone" was trying to tell me something. 

I looked at my reflection in a store window, to see if my eyes were glowing like a supernatural being, but they weren't. I would have wanted a picture of myself, if that was the case. Eventually the stinging subsided, and the girls gave me one Camel cigarette, in exchange for all that I had suffered for them.

Russell, The Musician
Then, a young guy stopped and listened to me, as I hammed up a version of "Mrs. Robinson." He complimented me upon my rendition, told me that he would only be in Mobile for one more day (today,) and asked me to jam with him. He is going to come look for me here at the library. I think he has some kind of recording device, and it may be possible for me to make my first forray into the digital age, and load something up to U-Tube.