My Prayer

Continued from yesterday...
And...I didn't make a dime, no, not one. There were enough people walking by, there was an Olympic tryout boxing tournament at the Mobile Convention Center, the same one where they have the Holy Spirit revivals.
I was at the acoustically superior spot. I was playing to my satisfaction. I would say that about 30 people walked by, not including types like Chris, who constantly circles the hub of Mobile on his route of ashtrays, looking for cigarettes which haven't been totally smoked. He passed me about 5 times (I guess a butt doesn't have a long shelf life around Dauphin Street in Mobile). Out of the 30, none of them threw a dollar in my case, even though I had "seeded" it by putting four of my own dollars in it, along with some change. It was sounding good, with the reverb of the New York Hi Style's glass case being oddly in tune with my guitar, which was given back to me by the police in an untuned state, and which I kept in the region of that untuning for at least two reasons:
One, because my voice, after my being caged for the better part of the previous past, wanted to start low and then gradually and naturally stretch its way up into the soninc strati of the Greats. The detuned guitar was good for that. (Note: To the (possible) credit of the officers of the Mobile Metro Police, the strings were all tuned lower, all six. This means that someone didn't just randomly twist the pegs (with a sadistic grin, and drooling) in "any" direction. Someone detuned all six, which is a recomended practice when storing a guitar for any considerable length of time. They had only put me in jail for one open container of alcoholic beverage in a park, which is an overnighter for most, but you never know; it might have been my seventh one in two months, wherupon the judge would prone to multiply the sentence of one day by a factor of oh, say sixty. So, I might have been in the clink long enough to have want for my guitar to be detuned, and someone may have been doing me a favor, (or maybe he had a sadistic grin and was drooling and just happened to flatten all the notes and sharpen none).)
Either way, now that I think of it, I can't figure out how loosening the strings when storing a guitar will help anything, except maybe the strings. When you are playing the guitar every day, you keep the strings tight, so, why would it hurt to keep the strings tight for months without playing it??  But, that is what the myth is; loosen them before you store the thing...horsecrap...
So, I didn't make a cent; and oh; the second reason is that if the cops detuned the guitar intending "to screw him up" then I am going to show them that the beauty of my music, when there is any, comes from a higher source and is not dependent upon the pitch range of the guitar, (or some bullshit.)
End of topic.
Fairhope, I Hope
I hope I can get to Fairhope tomorrow, across the water filled bay
To Fairhope I hope I can get tomorrow, I hope that they'll let my ass play
I can imagine the people liking my music
It's lyric intensive and doesn't make you-sick

Oh, Fairhope I hope you're a haven for me
I want a few things, too, nothing is free



This is how I would like to spend my retirement;
relaxing...jumping my motorbike, ahh, yes!!

 I plan upon taking the bus over to Fairhope tomorrow and trying to play there, during the Artwalk that they are scheduled to have (the weather report is good, by the way). The Artwalk in Mobile has yeileded some good nights for me, money-wise. I think the best nights that I've had in Mobile were either during the Bayfest Music Festival, where people come in droves, or after the Robert Plant show at the Saenger Theatre, where people who are my age, but have chosen a different path than I in life, a path that has led to them to 6.7 million times more money than I have, suggested by the fact that they had just paid 200 bucks to see one-fifth of Led Zepplin, (whom I heard are not very good in concert when they're all there).
There are some things that someone your exact age connects with you on, that nobody else can, I think. I remember being "blessed" with scads of paper money. It was as if these people, who probably drove in that day, and were staying at the $175 per night hotel that night, should have said "Here; buy yourself something nice" when they dropped their tips. I can honestly say that never in my life had I ever contemplated following Robert Plant around, until then...
My point is this. The residents of Fairhope tend more towards the likes of the Robert Plant audience than they do say, Chris, the guy who walks the multi-mile route through downtown Mobile, picking ashtrays. This might be in my favor, provided I am not run out of town for not looking, acting and thinking like the residents, oh I'm sorry; and not smelling, like the residents of Fairhope, Alabama USA...
My prayer: Please Lord, enough money so I can relax and breath easy for a period of time dependent upon how frugal I am. Amen.
I think Becca Griffin lives around Fairhope, so maybe it really is some kind of enchanted place...