Monday, March 21, 2011

A Fair Amount Of Hope

Friday night, I was on Dauphin Street at the "hot dog cart" spot. I was almost broke.
I knew that there was an Arts and Crafts Festival going on in Fairhope, which is across the bay; and across the economic gap, from Mobile.
I had only made a couple bucks when a guy came along and told me that he had an apartment right above where I was playing, and asked me if I would stop. He added that he didn't want to have to call the police.
At that point, I just put my guitar back in the case and was sitting there with my chin resting on my hands with my eyes closed, feeling anger and darkness closing around my heart like a black fog.
I prayed for a couple of seconds, and then heard a voice to my right and opened my eyes to see Chris, the guy who walks around all day for no apparent reason, beside me, asking me if I was alright.
I told him about the guy in the apartment, and said that I had a good mind to start playing as loud as I could.
Chris uttered something as nonsensical as walking around all day for no reason.
It was then that I decided that I would ride my bike from where I was to Fairhope for the Arts and Crafts Festival.

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I stopped and got directions at the Exxon, where I spent my last couple of dollars on beer, also. I guess I wanted the excursion to be a total gambit.
I rode through the night, having to backtrack a couple of times, like when I was headed towards Florida at one point.
I rode over a long bridge. I eventually got to Daphne on the other side of it, where I went to sleep behind a seafood restaurant which overlooked the bay. The sky was just lightening.
I got up around noon, when the temperature was up to about 80 degrees, walked past the mildly curious people who had populated the tables on the back porch of the place, and rode the last 7 miles of the trip after stopping at Publix for some energy fuel.
I got into Fairhope at about 1 pm., to see crowds of people, like the ones in the photo, crowding the festival.
I ran into none other than Leigh, daughter of Jeff the Potter, who I told of my excursion as a means of excusing my condition of being red faced, sweating and sleep deprived.
I sat and cooled off. I had about 15 cents on me, total.
I must have played from about 1:30 till about 3:30 and made 28 bucks. I was sounding good to myself, which was surprising, given the ordeal I'd been through.
The people were friendly. They were about 3 times more friendly than people in downtown Mobile, I would estimate on the affability scale. A lawyer, whose office was right by the fair site, let me put my bike on the inside of his fence, where he promised that it would be alright. One of the vendors let me stash my backpack in a compartment on his trailor which he was leaving unlocked. There were some valuable things in the same compartment, but he seemed to trust me, after only having a brief conversation. The storekeepers were friendly also.
After the fair closed for the day, I found a place off of a sidewalk, which was part of the Faulkner College campus. It was between a couple stands of bushes, and there was a small pile of straw, which I spread out and slept pretty well upon.
I was up with the sun, went to Publix for more health food while the temperature was still cool, and then returned to my playing spot for the last day of the festival, Sunday. I made another 50 bucks or so, including 20 for helping a lady break down her display.
Then, I found out that there is a busline which runs between Mobile and Fairhope. It costs $2.50. I could have skipped the bikeride through the night and into the morning afterall.
I slept on the same spot Saturday night.
While I was laying there, it occurred to me that Fairhope was where Becca lives. It wouldn't surprise me if she had put the pile of straw there.
I loved Fairhope and plan upon returning on the $2.50 bus, perhaps to busk and play open mic nights.

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