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| If I can't make a lousy few bucks tonight, I might as well hop the train and never come back. I could lose my guitar and all my posessions, depending upon what the policies are at the jail, concerning "property." I wouldn't be surprised if it didn't just become their "property." |
be the difference between my freedom for the next week or two or -nothing would surprise me here in New Orleans- my being initiated in the ways of the Orleans Parish Prison.
I woke up yesterday with $13.87.
I played in the evening and kept my beer consumption to a paltry 3 cans of Hurricane High Gravity Lager.
I played Decatur until the 8 p.m. "curfew" came into effect, then went to Bourbon, where I got a couple of cigarettes and maybe a dollar from one of the stragglers who were out on this dismal Monday night.
This city really becomes opened to the most critical scrutiny when it is "slow" or "dead" or there are not many people out, if you will. It's like going to an amusement park and seeing only handfuls of people there. You get the impression that it just won't be as fun because you will be the only person screaming from a roller coaster car (the back one; it would be available) as it plunges over the precipice. Or you form a preconceived notion that the place just isn't all its "cracked up to be," as evidenced by the obvious lack of popularity.
All this is magnified in the French quarter which seems to thrive upon being so busy and crowded and chaotic that it never crosses people's minds that they are overpaying for everything, just to be part of the whole experience. People come here in droves, to see the droves of people, who have come here to see the droves of people.
Take away the crowds, and you are left with old buildings, the smell of urine and mule poop, and delicious food which could easily be replicated by other chefs in other cities.
Guy's wailing away on clarinets for nobody, and, most pathetic of all, clowns who, without the benefit of being seen through the eyes of children, are just guys with painted faces and funny costumes, and they aren't smiling, not by a long shot...
Yeah, when it is as slow as it was on Monday night, the 15th of November, it begs questions like "Why would anyone come here, anyways?"
I tried to find the Monday Night Football game on a TV, with no luck.
I then went back to the Occupation, where was showing another movie about the World Trade Centers collapsing as if by "a controlled demolition."
I woke up this morning with $13.02, down 80 cents from the previous day, even though I had purchased only 3 cans of beer; how pathetic is that?
I still have less than the 15 dollar amount, which I need to bring to court tomorrow, to stay out of jail.
I Have Let Sue Go
Unless I have "A Miracle On Canal Street," and not only cover my 15 dollar fee, but have enough left over to cover Sue's and still have something left over; Sue is on her own. I am not even sure I would intervene in the courtroom as they drag her away, kicking and screaming, towards a jail cell, unless my heart is touched in some way, perhaps if it seems apparent that she really doesn't understand what is happening to her, and why. She is deathly afraid of jail, all 85 pounds of her.
I see her occasionally, but have stopped talking to her.
She is a victim of the things that people have told her. People tell her things because they are playing games with her and deriving amusement out of her reactions. She will "go ballistic" and fume and stew all day over something that someone said about her.
A guy, whom I don't even know, walked up to her and told her that I had said to him "If you see Sue, give her a holler."
Sue accosted me and demanded to know what was "the big idea" of me having told that guy to give her a dollar if he sees her.
"I think he probably said 'hollar,' Sue, and I've never spoken to the guy in my life. He's messing with your head."
Sue doesn't know who to believe, some stranger, or a guy whom she once shared a piece of cardboard with, taking refuge from a tropical storm. If she is that distrustful, then perhaps she is a "damaged" person, beyond my abilities to salvage damaged Colombian ladies.
I have let her go, like the bird that she is, metaphorically.
Wanderlust (And Colloquialisms)
A reader of this blog has painted not only a rosy picture of the bay area of California, and the opportunities for buskers, for example; he has also hit the nail on the head in noticing that I ain't makin' crap out in these here streets of New Orleans.
He has sent me an e-mail to that effect, using the "contact" button that I wish more people would use.
I am looking to the West, from whence cometh my hope...
Addendum: Sue
After my last session on the computer, I saw Sue outside the library and decided to talk to her.
I told her that I only had 13 of the 15 bucks that I will need "to stay out of jail." At the mention of the word jail, it looked like she was about to burst into tears.
She then spent the next hour, repeating the same things that she had said the last time the subject came up, and asking the same questions. "I don't know, Sue, it depends upon what the judge does." "I don't know, Sue.."
My friend you should have put the $15 first and "beer" 2nd, but, that's done so .... you need to discover panhandling. This is a situation where it is warranted. You need to go around, politely, asking people if they have any spare change you can have, because you need $2 to avoid a 2-week jail stay. You have to tell the truth! It doesn't work otherwise.
ReplyDeleteIt's also highly lucrative, so it's a Devil's bargain. It's like magic, which everyone is warned away from for good reason: it's powerful stuff. I know; I was a panhandler and making $20 an hour or better is nice. But today I gladly worked an hour or a bit less busking and made $2. Likely, if I'd done my old spanging routine on that street I'd have made at least $30 today. But unless I absolutely need to, I won't.
BTW I bought, and am trying, an Earthquake. People should be *paid* to drink this stuff lol