Pressure To Perform

The wind continues to gust, into this Thursday morning.
It is chilly, by New Orleans standards; about 65 degrees, (brrrr...)
I feel pressured to play as much as I can today, hoping that the wind will die down and it will warm up. My strings are starting to dull, and if one of them breaks I had better hope that I have the 7 bucks to replace the whole set. The music store stopped selling single strings for a dollar. Maybe this is to discourage the musicians who are not proficient enough to make 7 bucks...
Last night, I knocked off early, partly because of the cold (I have lost my jacket somewhere, somehow; perhaps by turning my back upon it for 3 seconds...) retrieved my sleeping bag from where it was still hidden. I may have been observed doing so by some homeless who were sitting on a bench nearby and will hide it in a different spot this morning.
I slept in a remote spot with Sue and the few who have remained her friends. They all moved away from the Occupation group, claiming that they wanted nothing to do with them. Sue manages to find grievances with about 90% of the people she encounters, it seems.

At the library, when I feel pressured to be out playing instead...

I first lay down by a wall, but then moved over next to Sue. "What happened to the wall?" she asked, quick to note my movement, in her typical suspicious way.
She might have wanted me to come right out and say that I want to be near her, but I told her instead that the lady I had been next to asked me not to smoke near her, which was true.
She was up "with the birds" and walked off, carrying all her stuff, to where; nobody knows...
Sue Up In Arms
I left the library and went down Canal Street, while I was waiting "65 minutes" for my next computer session.
I started to think that I am going to have to sacrifice in some areas in order to focus on others. I should maybe get out early and play for the tourists and only blog after having put in my hours in music.
Reading in the morning is nice, as is working on this blog, yet, there will be nothing to blog about except becoming penniless if I don't put music first, perhaps.
I ran into Sue, who was enraged over having not been allowed into a certain convenience store, where a South American lady was tending.
There is a long list of places where she has been barred from. Several of them are aware of the cat in her bag and are following their policies about animals in the store, yet, most never give her a reason for why she is not allowed in; according to her.
She seems to have the most problems with the Latino community, of which she is a member.
"They come into this country all meek and scared, and within a few months they get jobs and apartments and then they develop attitudes," She once said.

20 Minutes Into Her Diatribe Over The Incident...

I stood there and watched a half hour go by while she told me about how, as soon as she walked into the convenience store, the lady behind the counter said "Get out of here," and wouldn't give a reason.
I have had the same experience. Not here (yet) but in other places where the homeless people are "a problem," and anyone with a backpack is suspect.
They don't have to give you a reason. They can disallow you to enter their establishment just because they don't like the shirt you are wearing, or your race, or the fact that you look homeless. They just won't tell you what their reason is, if it isn't politically correct.
The owner of the Shell franchise in Mobile told me "This is my store and I don't like you so get the f*** out!"
Can you feel a revolution fomenting?
If the lady behind the counter is Peruvian, for example, and hates Colombians, she wouldn't say so upon Sue inquiring of her. She would not give any reason, out of fear of saying the wrong thing. If Sue went up the chain of command and talked to the manager or owner, the cashier would probably say that Sue "tried to steal something." This could be construed out of the fact that Sue may have picked an item up off the shelf and began to walk towards the register to pay for it, which is also in the general direction of the exit, and,  (there you have it:) attempted theft (get out of here, Colombian puta!)
I empathise with Sue's anguish and outrage over the injustice of it all, but also sensed the clock ticking away on my day and the pressure mounting to get out and make some money.
She wanted me to go into the store and ask the lady why she had not let her come in, thinking that the lady might respect an American enough to give a straight answer. I don't know it that is true but what is true is that there are only so many hours in a day and this afternoon will get colder by the minute, forcing me at some point to quit, hopefully with enough money made to get a jacket at the Goodwill for a few bucks. I just don't have time to fight Sue's battles.