Saturday, October 9, 2010

I Was The Building In Front
The attack of the Earthquakes
Last night, the night of the Art Walk, I decided to sit at a certain spot and consume a beer, before going into town and finding a spot to set up at, in order to play for the crowd which I anticipated walking the sidewalks on such a fine night. There was not a cloud in the sky, and the temperature was about 75 degrees.
There was another guy, sitting over by a fence, whom I didn't see when I first walked up, but whose presence I soon became aware of when he hollored over to me. He wanted to pitch in on a 4 pack of beer, and was just "a little short."
I thought about the situation, and, since I knew that I wanted only one more beer before playing, but also knew that, historically this one more beer would beget at least another, I agreed to pitch in with the guy, who turned out to be Richard, or Rick, or Dick, or Ricky; (he wasn't picky.)
A trip to the store yeilded the information that, the Steel Reserve was not available in the desired 4-pack, and would have to be purchased at the "single" price, which would not net me any savings, and in fact, would lose me money aftter I bought two for him and two for myself. What was sold in that particular package was the Earthquake Lager. The 12% alcohol Earthquake Lager. In the interest of saving what amounted to 30 cents, and against my better judgement, I acquired the stuff and returned to join Richard, or Rick, or Dick or Ricky.
He turned out to be a very likable fellow, and a pure blooded Italian, according to him. We talked about olive oil and basil and oregano and compared our impressions of garlic, as we sipped the Earthquakes. We were both in agreement as to the potency of that beverage, and the need to brave the first few sips, in order to stun the taste buds into sobmission and get them to stop complaining.
As the Earthquakes went down and the sun mimicked them, I was caught in a tug-of-war between my anxiousness to get to a playing spot for the Artwalk, and the enjoyment that I was getting from conversing and imbibing, with my new friend.
After we each had finished our first Earthquake and then followed them with the "aftershocks," the former became a mute point.
Richard asked me to play something on the guitar, as if asking me to stand on one foot, close my eyes, tilt my head skyward, and recite the alphabet backwards. I made a couple fumbling attempts at a couple songs, and basically gave up on the endeavor. Richard went off to try to get another Earthquake somehow, and I walked off in the direction of Dauphin St.
I stumbled along down that conduit, observing as I did several scenes which looked like the aftermaths of parties. There were a few people, who looked like they were straggling, and also seemed as if they had had an enjoyable Art Walk, from what I gathered by their mannerisms and what conversation I picked up upon.
"Garlic? Hell, Yeah!!"

I felt my spirits sink with every sighting of full trash cans and the type of litter on the sidewalk which suggested a large amount of traffic. I was trying to extimate the loss in revenue which I had put myself in the way of, by incpacitating myself, and procrastinating until the event had passed me by. I was tempted to blame it on Richard and wonder if he was a demon, working to destroy me.
I ran into Scott, one of the firemedics, near the end of Dauphin, in front of the Royal Cafe. He was dressed up in what looked like a tuxedo. He smiled and held out his hand and greeteed me by name. He asked me if I had made a lot of money and surmised that I probably had as, "There were a lot of people out for the Art-Walk." I had to confess to him that I had sat with a new acquaintence and gotten too drunk to play music, and had missed the Art-Walk. I left out the part about being on my way to look for cigarette shorts in the hotel ashtray down the street.
I decided to just go back to the church spot and call it a night and try to do better tonight.
"In the last days, there will be earthquakes..."
While there, I made the best of things by washing all of my clothes and hanging them in front of the hot air vent, which seems to blow constantly from out of the heating and air conditioning unit.
This morning, I had clean, dry boots and socks and everything else. I felt better just putting them on, and more optimistic. There was nothing to be gained in being depressed over the water under the bridge, which was the Art Walk. I read a lot of Dickens' "The Old Curiosity Shop," which the lady at the Thrift Store had given me for free, along with a sweatshirt, the last time I was there. It's a great book and a little bit of consolation, after a "disastrous" evening.

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