Dis"cussed"ed With Mobile

Busted Flat In Mobile

False Alarm
Yesterday afternoon, after
Leaving the library and going to Save-A-Lot, I discovered the bike missing from the where I had left it.
I figured that, since it had a flat tire, if someone stole it, they would have probably hid it within a quarter mile radius of the store.
I prepared to arm myself with a club and "go out clubbing," looking for the perpetrator and the bike. My fear was that, once I got started swinging, I would snap and crack the head of the crack head.
It was a false alarm, though, as Dennis, one of the magagers had brought the bike into the store and stored it in the back room.
The First Sign
Then, I went into town to find that "Horn Man," had returned to town and was "Horn-Manning" it on the spot that I usually play at night. I don't know if he "stole" the spot from me, after being told of the vast riches that I had come by there, or if he selected it, based upon the same wisdom, honed through years of playing street music.
This was just another thing detracting from Mobile.
Then, I was in the park and found a sports paper sitting on one of the benches, aparently abandoned there. I put it in my bag after an internal debate, and returned to the bench where I had been sitting.
A black man in a green shirt soon entered the park; walked over to the bench; cussed; and then walked over to me and started questioning me as to wheather or not I saw someone take his paper.
He was drunk and I was half drunk.
Before I could answer, he became belligerent and started cussing and threatened to hit me if I didn't "give it up."
I decided at that moment, not to reward his behaviour by returning his paper. I told him that I had only been there a couple minutes and that I wasn't really paying attention to the bench in question. I said this so calmly, that all he could do was seeth at me.
I was planning upon playing on Dauphine Street that night, though, by 9 p.m., it didn't look very promising. There were few cars and even fewer people on the street, as the cars belonged mostly to the employees of the bars and restaurants who were sitting by idly in their establishments, cussing, I'm sure.

So rare is it for me to ever try to
bum a smoke, I decided to capture myself earlier,
asking Mike for a cigarette

The Second Sign
As I walked down Dauphine, another person whom I hadn't seen in months, whose name is either Alan or Andy, was sitting in front of Hop Jacks. He began to cuss me out as I walked past him, using as foul a language as he could muster in his drunken stupor.
He had begun doing this to me ever since I stopped giving him things for free, like cigarettes, beer or money for beer. This was shortly after I arrived in Mobile.
He was one of the first people I met, as I walked past the wall across the street from the liquor store. He offered me a beer and gave me directions to the Salvation Army and other places that offered meals for the homeless.
In exchange for "I showed you nothing but love, when you were new in town," every subsequent meeting with him turned into him begging me for any of the above.
On one particular occasion in Cooper's Park, I was on my way to lay down and walked past him.
He asked for a cigarette (of course he asked for a cigarette). I told him honestly that I had only three; one before going to sleep, one for waking up in the middle of the night, and one for the morning. I trusted that he would understand.
Instead, he began the cussing, which continues to this day. He told me then that if he had three cigarettes and a friend asked for one, he would capitulate (four syllable word mine.)
He went on to tell me that he hated my guts because I was greedy and stingy and etc. etc.
So, here it was, September 22nd, 20011 and I hadn't seen ol' Andy or Alan in about 8 months, and he picked up where he left off. This was the second sign telling me to leave Mobile.
I have seen the guy fight before. He only seems to fight when he is drunk, which is usually. During this particular bout, which took place in Bienville Park, Andy or Alan swung his fist; missed the guy by a mile, and then fell down on his face, by his own inertia. Luckily for him, his opponent did the same thing. There were no points scored for punches landed, though about 4 "knockdowns" took place for those who were scoring...
The point is, again, I'm afraid of what I might do to the guy and regret afterwards. The cops will put an assault charge on someone, even if the person he/she assaults is Alan or Andy. Life isn't fair...

Welcome, 5,400th Visitor!

My Train, I Thought
Given the second sign, which could be considered the third sign if you count Horn Man as a sign, I cancelled plans to play on Dauphine Street. Instead, I headed for the rail yard, the sounds of Horn Man fading away to the rear as I went.
I sat and waited for a train, while I read the sports paper, which I started to feel like I had stolen, in its entirety.
A train came, but it had nothing but coal cars; no open boxcars; no grain cars.
It backed up to drop or add cars. It added one open boxcar, pulled forward and then started to back up again.
I persued the open boxcar, riding along the hard pan road on the flat tire, keeping pace with it.
I came along a couple rail workers, standing by their truck in their neon-green vests.
"Are these cars going to New Orleans?," I asked.
"No, they're going to the shop!" said the one, who looked like a grown up Opie from Mayberry, obviously lying. ...all 157 cars, going to the shop, eh Opie?
This put me in a dilemna. Opie was obviously trying to dissuade me from hopping the train. If his persual of the matter extended to him getting on the radio and warning someone to be on the lookout for a train hopper, I may have witnessed "the third sign" telling me to leave Mobile; being arrested on a federal trespassing charge.
I decided to return to another spot to wait for the train to leave the yard, hoping that it would stop again.
Then, I realised that I was thirsty and had already drank what I had to drink.
I was feeling bad about stealing the guy's sports paper, even though he had threatened me; some people only understand the language of threats.
I blew off the trip to NOLA for another day; rode back to the park and returned the paper to the bench where I found it, and then went to sleep on the trolley, until 9 a.m. this morning. Maybe the guy will get his paper back, it did have a price of $4.95 on it...
And here I am; blogging 5,000 words about nothing much at all.
I at least have another chance to see if Wilma came to work, and if she brought those cigarettes; which I go to do now...