Money Monday

Saturday night,
There was a guy playing on my spot on Decatur.
I had gotten there late and had every reason to expect someone to be on my spot.

Friday night, the gutter punks were restless.
They weren't making any money doing whatever they do near the beer store, and they kept drifting to and fro, past my spot in their migratory hunt for handouts, food and beer.
I had about 25 bucks, and, every time they approached, I added a couple dollars of my own money to my case, playing with their minds (and what awsome toys they were.)
On their last pass by, I had all my one dollar bills fluffed up, and my case looked like a cornucopia of plenty, I'm sure, to those "travelling kids." They were wishing that they had learned how to play a guitar.
Finding another guy on my spot was somehow karmic.
Some people attribute making money to the spot that they were at, and not the performer, per se.
The punks could have very well told the guy that there was "a great spot" up the street, where he would make a lot of money. It was probably a mistake to mess with the heads of the travelling kids that way, an example of my pride getting in the way of my best interests. They would have told him so much in exchange for a cigarette.
The guy didn't sound too impressive, strumming away but not singing much.
He had a dog. The travelling kids have dogs; lots of dogs; more than one dog for each punk. Dogs are their money makers. People stop and leave food for the dogs, which the dogs get some of. They don't want the dogs to appear too well fed, of course.
The Bourbon Invasion
Instead of getting angry, I went to Bourbon Street and tried another spot, which I had always wanted to. It is way down the street from the chaos up the street, and I think people take "quiet walks" there, away from the maddening crowd.
I had a good night, and probably made another 20 bucks. I never would have considered 20 bucks a "good night" but we are living through The Great Depression of '11...
My "money" songs were "My Favorite Mule," which is an adaptation of "My Favorite Horse," which I wrote in Saint Augustine. The carriages are pulled by mules here, not horses. One group of people that stopped and put 3 bucks in my case told me that mules were used because they can pull more weight because they are related to donkeys and not horses. Somebody else said that they can work in the heat and require less water. "...Did I just not see my favorite mule, my favorite mule, my fa-a-a-vorite mule?"
They asked me the name of "my favorite mule."
"I haven't found out, I'm admiring it from a distance"
They suggested "Pixie."
"That's kind of hard to rhyme, though," I said.
"Dixie!," one of them said.
"She pulls the white carriage, down in dixie; I'm not sure but I think her name is Pixie..." and another dollar in the case; sweet.
The other "money" song was "You Must Be Getting What You Want," which is about Karrie. I have finally distanced myself enough emotionally from the subject matter, and the lyrics are starting to fill out. It has to do with the fact of Karrie's not pursuing me to Mobile, more than a year ago, and the likelyhood that it is because she has found a way to satisfy her needs without my help.
I probably wouldn't have tried the spot, if it weren't for the guy playing at the other one. Gutter punks work in strange ways.
There is a whole other section of the French Quarter that I hadn't been aware of. The girl with the shaved head who plays the mandolin suggested it to me that night, after I left Decatur. She was one block down, on a corner of Royal Street.
A lady asked me directions to Checkpoint Charlie's, at one point in the evening.
I told her to go to the corner and make a left. Then I said that, at the next intersection there will be a girl with a shaved head playing a mandolin; make another left. Good directions, or what? I could see on her face that she was impressed by my knowledge of the quarter...
"You Even Talk Like Him!"
I am not foolish enough to believe that winter will not come this year. Santa Clause, maybe not, but, soon it will be necessary to make arrangements for the cold season.
I might try to stay here until Christmas, and then I am considering south Florida (after a ride on the freight train) as a winter spot; maybe even as far as The Keys.
I met a guy in St. Augustine named Art, who was from Key Pine Bluff, or some key with a "Pine" in the name...
That's better than not knowing anyone in The Keys, I guess.
He took my picture and said that he wanted to show it to a guy who is my identical twin who lives down there. "You even talk like him!," he added. Maybe we could start a band...
That's about it for Money Monday. Tuesday's focus, I haven't determined yet.
Sue and I are having a little spat, by the way...