Three More Bucks And I'm Outta Here

It continued to storm
Into Sunday. I decided to go to church on Sunday morning, at the address which was given to me by the missionaries, who had given me a hamburger, a bottle of water, some hygeine stuff and prayed that I would make money playing on the street and that I would be transformed in mind and heart into the spitting image of Jesus, but not suffering on the cross; suffering on Bourbon Street (above) instead.
I began my walk down Dauphine Street, counting numbers. As I approached the address of "711" (which they had given me and told me to remember by thinking of the convenience store -[I remembered it by thinking of the craps table at the casino]), I noticed that there was nothing like a steeple or any other indication that I hadn't been sent on a wild goose chase.
I got to the addresss, which was on a small sign, hanging over a door, along with the name of the church, which was in French, but had "Baptist" as part of the name.
I went inside.
I had woken up feeling sorry for myself. I had a broken string on the damp guitar, and no money to replace it.
I had become disillusioned with New Orleans. I was realising that it was a "playground for adults." This occured to me as I was walking by Larry Flint's "Huster Barely Legal" Gentleman's Club on Bourbon Street.
Adults are supposed to have jobs and money, being no longer college students studying up for lucrative professions, but mature adults who come here to blow the proceeds from the latter.
I was originally feeling sorry for myself and going to go to the church with the feeling that I had lost my faith in the French Quarter, like leaving my cellphone somewhere and walking off. I then thought that all the other people there were as human as me and as prone to the attacks of the demons that walk the Quarter, devouring whom they can, and I decided to try to bring consolation to others, rather than seeking it from them.
I got there late. The sermon was about traditions in religion, and how the apostles were critisized for not washing their hands before they ate, by people who had clean hands but hard hearts (paraphrased).
It was a wonderful experience. I talked at length to others and actually found a heart which beats in the French Quarter, and people who actually seemed to care about others, and who served a very good lunch.
Arriving late as I did, I was leery about being perceived as one who wanted to skip the lion's share of the service and was only interested in eating.
First, I just asked for coffee.
I spoke at length about my life and kind of gave my testimony, informally, and I left there feeling better; even though I went there to try to make others feel better...if that makes any sense...

I Need To Remember, ...Eggs And Margarine... 

Then, shortly after leaving, I ran into this guy (above).
One block away from the church. He had attracted his share of admirers, most of which wondered: "How can he hold still that long??"
I joked: "I wonder if he's making out his shopping list while he does that.."
or is he thinking "Three more bucks, and I'm outta here!"
I Knew that my prayers were probably answered, and that he was the first "sign" affirming it.
Third Person Narrative Continues...
That Sunday, Daniel wandered the Quarter, taking in the sights and sounds of the parade of gay guys, who braved the sporatic fallings of raindrops and tip-toes through them along Bourbon Street.
He sat and played on a spot on Royal Street, across from the market where wholesome food is sold, and where Sue shops for Kooky. Kooky only eats "people food."
He had some success on a day when other musicians did not. This was probably an irony, as he wondered if whatever intangible that separated him from them and which, caused gay guys tip him, was something that he would want to cultivate.
Daniel had sent an e-mail from the Starbucks at the Marriot on Canal Street to his mother and his sister and brother, saying that he was in a spot and that sending him some money would allow him to much more easily weather the storm.
He realised that he was the one who had gone to New Orleans on a whim and on a freight train, with 3 dollars and a guitar, but with no full complement of rain gear, hip boots included.
He had gotten himself into the mess, and was faced with a monumental task in overcoming both the storm and the fact that it would put him out of work for at least three days, the fact that he would have to go back to work with one broken string on the guitar, in a city where he would be playing with a world famous musician one block down the street, who would be able to overshadow him by having no strings missing.
Friday morning he had approached a few people in the hotel lobbies about using their laptops to dash off the e-mail to siblings.
The first gentleman he asked, replied that he was very leery about letting anyone use his laptop, for fear that they would somehow be able to rob him blind with a few very malicious keystrokes.
He was finally able to talk to a couple of young men, who let him send an e-mail. He made sure to mention that it wasn't a matter of life and death; only a matter of life and life as a drowned rat seeing its life passing before its eyes...
Sunday ended, and Daniel had about six dollars. He ran into Sue, the Cuban Lady Who Weighs 90 Pounds And Carries A Cat Around, who was on her way to the casino.
Sue suggested a second spot for Daniel to play. It was right across the street from one of the Hannah Casino entrances.
Daniel soon saw the genius of Sue and the logic of playing there. People on their way into the casino, along with rubbing stones and not stepping on cracks in the sidewalk, were throwing a buck or two into his case, probably for luck, he thought.
Daniel And Sue's First Spat
Daniel Twice Blessed
It soon became apparent that the losers on the way in, who had thrown a buck or two in Daniel's case and then went into the casino, and become transformed into winners, again blessed Daniel and all he stood for by throwing additional dollars into his case.
This was good in Daniel's (tired) eyes because two days had passed since he had mailed his family asking for money. There had been no activity at the Western Union, and he had no way of checking his e-mail for any kind of response.
He thought that perhaps his mom was teaching him a lesson about hopping freight trains without a raincoat, bound for a city in the Gulf of Mexico, which is in a known hurricane zone, and only recently had corpses washed up from their graves and floating down the street, to the amusement of the looters, and the vexation of the street performers (they don't tip).
Daniel amassed almost 20 dollars which, in New Orleans -unless you are a teenaged girl dressed so as to expose most of your bosoms and doing something (anything, whatever) on an instrument like an accodian (or whatever); is a good amount.
Sue sat nearby, offering support to Daniel in his endeavor. He wasn't sure if she was making eye contact with the people or gesturing in some way to them, but, money flowed and Daniel's only fear was that someone from the Decadence Festival crowd would try to rub him for luck.

Then, Sue wanted to take the money into the casino, and 'The First Little Spat" en"sue"d.