To All Who Wired Birthday Money...

Thanks, mom.

This is the view which greeted me as I rode my newly repaired bike
towards the French Quarter. Note that, in true New Orleans style,
some idiot in a Neon tried to wreak my shot.
They do it on purpose, I'm convinced...

Most recent picture, allowing all to keep current with
my state of demise...

I got the money at about 9 in the morning, after I got off the train and walked to the Winn Dixie; which was good because I was right by where my bike was hidden (still) in the bamboo by the railroad tracks. I guess the scavengers don't look everywhere, like they do downtown (checking bushes, looking under buildings etc.)

I was able to get an all day bus pass (3 bucks) then ride to Wal-Mart, after getting off at the Goodwill and spending 6 bucks on a pair of new jeans ("the most comfortable jeans on earth" brand) then to Wal-Mart for a 21 dollar tire, a 5 dollar tube, a 5 dollar lock, and a 1 dollar spoon, to use as a tire iron, and then back on the bus for a 12 mile ride out to the bike, where I put on the new tire and tube as carefully as I could, then spent 1 dollar putting 50 pounds of pressure in each tire. (42 bucks to put the bike on the road; it rides very well, and will save me time moving from one spot to another; time which can be spent playing and making tip money. I figure the bike will save about an hour per week just in walking time, which will be 40 extra bucks per month. Also, I can find a spot a few miles out of the French Quarter where possesions can be hidden and preserved, like the bike was -it was about 12 miles out of downtown and was still there-)

I then started heading back towards the library, but realised I wasn't going to make it before closing. I would have to spend the night with nothing but the clothes on my back, and trust the library security to not throw my stuff away (they didn't)

Other than that, its back to the grind.
Now I have to make the bike pay off by patiently waiting for "the season" to start down here. Supposedly, going into November, the crowds intensify and everyone prospers. Hopefully the economy has bottomed out and won't get worse. There are enough scowls on the faces of everyone you see on the street without us having a "slow" season...

I'm sending a letter to Karrie with some printouts from this blog; things that are about her, from a year ago when I still had her on my mind, every other minute...Will No Longer Pur"Sue."
I'm trying to give up on Sue.

I went to her sleeping spot, after having tried to sleep somewhere else and being cold. I only had a tee shirt on and it was about 60 degrees.
Sue acted like I was an intruder, not thrilled to see me; didn't ask me how Mobile was; didn't even seem to have had a thought about me while I was away, nor remember why I went.

Sue, back when she used to bring me water.
Now, she only brings me a whole lot of hurt...

Its tough when you only have one friend and that friend acts like Sue.
She had some other agenda, it seemed.
She got up at around midnight and grabbed her stuff and walked off.
Then, she returned with Steve, a guy in a wheelchair who probably gets a check every month and who could probably get housing if he could stay sober, but yet, who lives on the street and takes advantage of the kindness of the likes of Sue. It seems like unless you are pitifull or a stranded bird, Sue has little interest in you...

I guess I got the bike just in time to find a spot of my own and save her having to say "This spot isn't really big enough for two people," or anything of the sort...

Some people have surmised that Sue is on the run
from some dark, evil past...they think she may
have killed her husband in California (or somewhere);
probably after drinking the same Cobra
Malt liquor that made her kiss me (above).

I had been just thinking about how I was going to carry my sleeping bag around with me all day; everywhere I go, along with my overstuffed backpack and the guitar, and how much the bike would help when I checked the Western Union, just on a hunch...

I will pull up some local maps and explore on the bike, focusing on places that are too far away for the homeless to walk to. The ones that have bikes are generally not thieves. The one's that sold their bikes for drug money are the ones to watch out for...