The Three Guys With Guitars

I was a little bit depressed this morning. The long weekend had ended on a sour note.
I was in town and played a bit and made a few bucks. Then I ran into 3 guys, who all had guitars. They wanted to play. I looked up and down Dauphing Street, and saw very few souls out in the 45 degree air.
'We played for a little while. They were drinking beer and talking about going to get some more beer and some pot. One of them used to work at one of the rescue missions, where people are rescued from bondage to alcohol and drugs. He was the one who wanted to buy some weed. I guess he could rescue others, but not himself...
To make a long story short, one of them was talking about going to Florida to play music somewhere, saying that they already had a gig. He said that he knew people with a lot of clout in the music industry, and said that he didn't want to drop names, before he "reluctantly" dropped the names of Paul McCartney, and Ringo Starr.
We jammed more, enough to convince them that I could drop everything and go with them to Florida, to be in their "band."
Then, up rode my friend Terry on his bicycle. Terry is a 54 year old black man, whom I have befriended. He was pretty wobbly and almost teetered over on his bike. Soon it was settled that Terry would take 5 dollars and ride to a certain neighborhood to buy pot, then would meet the rest of us at the Shell.
Us four musicians walked the mile to the Shell, while along the way, the other three kept voicing their concern that Terry was going to abscond with the 5 dollars. I had to reassure them about 3 times that I trusted Terry. The three said they were from Mississippi. I almost wanted to say "He's not like most niggers," to calm them down and get them to stop worrying. I would reassure them and they would quiet down, then a minute would pass and one of them would say "f*** it, it's only 5 bucks. He probably needs it more than us."
To continue making a long story short, Terry returned with the 5 bucks still in his hand, and said that he had failed to get pot. The one who used to work at the rescue mission went into the Shell and bought all kinds of food, using a food stamp card, like soup and cheesburgers and chips and gave to all of us who were hungry. I ate a cheesburger.
Terry kept asking me for sips off my beer, which I shouldn't have bought in the first place, because I didn't need it, neither did he. The 5 bucks was redistibuted to a guy in a silver car, who returned, and, after exacting 2 more dollars from the guy who used to work at the rescue mission, produced a bag of pot, taking which, the 3 guys made a hasty exodus for "home," wherever that was to them. They didn't offer to smoke pot with either Terry or I. I felt bad on his account, as, the snubbing of him probably had "racial undertones." I walked to the trolley and went to sleep. I don't miss things that I never had.
I woke up, feeling the cheap cheeseburger in my stomach and a heaviness in my heart, that only two energy drinks could begin to allieve.
I had $10.19. down from $14 the day before, and $19 the day before that.
I will play the street tonight and hope that I don't have competition from three guys high on pot.