I Can Have That Camera??

I'm kind of a creature
of habit, especially if the habit is smoking or drinking.
Yesterday, I walked into the quarter and got two beers at The Unique Store, and then went by the spot where I had seen the bird, in case Sue was posted up there, keeping vigil. She wasn't.

I'm sure that there is a bum to the immediate right of
whomever is taking this picture saying:
"I can have that camera??"

Then, I went to Popeye's and grabbed some salt packets to put into the cheap beer, to make it as good as Hurricane Lager can be.
Soon, I will be a legend around here: the guy who puts salt in his beer (must be a Yankee...)
I sat at the same spot to drink and was greeted by a guy who is remodeling a hotel near there and to whom I have spoken a few times. He said "You're early today!" I guess he is a creature of habit, too.
I got the the spot on Decatur, and there was a rather large black guy sitting in the spot where I like to play, holding a sign, which basically stated that he was looking for work.
I asked him if my playing music would be considered "competition" to him.
He didn't answer, except with "the NOLA scowl," which is the expression of fashion here.
I began to play in the next doorway, after checking with the people inside the business, who had made the suggestion of "Run him off, he's just sitting there holding a sign, you're trying to do something!"
I told them that I wouldn't like it if someone tried to be territorial with me like that.
I was playing and sipping my third beer, when the guy spoke up and said "Hey, man, I came here to be by myself!"
I gave him the smart ass reply "Well, you picked a bad spot. You should go out into the country and sit under a tree!"
He then informed me that he was from Chicago, and that if I had said to him in Chicago what I had just said to him in New Orleans, then he would be committing some act of violence, which I can't remember specifically, upon me.
I then broke into music, putting the words of a guy that I was in Basic Training with, who was from Detroit, to the chords.
"In Detroit, if you're not a man by the age of 14, then, you're a punk; and, if you're a punk, you're always gonna be a punk."
I made a nice little ditty out of the words of Private Askin, who was from Detroit and was in my platoon.
Askin For It
He got up from his bed, did Private Askin, and stood between the two rows of double bunks -about 12 running down each side of the dorm- on more than one occasion, usually late at night, usually late on one of the nights that we were allowed to go into San Antonio and return drunk, and he made pretty much the same announcement, on each of those occasions.
He was in his boxers and there was what is called in some circles "a skid mark" despoiling his otherwise pristine garment, but, I don't think it detracted from the import of his words.
He said, and I'm pretty sure that I might have this pretty accurately, because Askin repeated himself, much the way Hitler (another great communicator) did, and, if there is a usefulness in repetition, beyond for merely its own sake, it at least has the effect of making the words stick in the listener's head.
Askin would say:
"My name's Askins, and I'm from Detroit!" Worth noting that he added an "s" to the end of his name, which had no counterpart, either on his uniform lapel, nor on his paperwork. This would be, in my opinion, to make his name sound more "bad ass." You might fuck with Askin, but you ain't gonna try ol' "Askins." (Why, it even sounds like you would be ganged up upon, by more than one Askin, and overwhelmed.
Mr. Askin continued:
"...and if you fuck with Askins - Askins is gonna fuck you up!" and then he reviewed the information about his origins (Detroit) and repeated the social commentary, the conclusion of which being that if you're not a man in Detroit by the age of 14, then you are a punk; and will be saddled with all the fruit of the consequences of that particular station in life.
I had a good friend named Corey Puckett. He was from Little Rock, Arkansaw and occupied the bunk directly across from me. I told him "Sweet dreams, and don't fuck with Askins," before we nodded off on those nights.
Getting back to the point of the anecdote; When I broke into song, and sang Askin(s) speech over a chord progression, substituting "Chicago" for "Detroit," the large black man came over and grabbed the neck of my guitar.
I realised the folly in returning his pull, trying to wrench the instrument from him, and throwing it out of adjustment, but I pulled back just enough to communicate "Let go" to him.
"You're not strong enough!" he said.
I told him "I have something strong enough in my backpack," and reached into said bag with the hand which wasn't engaged in a tug of war with him over the guitar.
For a second, he seemed to flinch, as if maybe thinking I would pull out a small caliber handgun and shoot him at point blank range.
I pulled my cellphone out, and said "911" to him.
He said something about not caring at all about going to jail ("I need a place to sleep and a hot shower,") and things kind of escalated until the point where I reminded him that I had asked him if he would consider me competition if I played music nearby and that he had just stared at me. That seemed to diffuse things, and soon he went on to another spot, but not before telling me that I needed to read my bible, as evidenced by the presence of my half-drunk third can of beer sitting next to me. "...and you're swillin'?" "You need to start reading your bible!"
Ok, guitar grabber, let me borrow yours...
I saw him at the other spot later that evening. He had added a tip jar to his accoutrement's, to go with his sign looking for work, and he was drinking something.
I went up to the Bourbon Street spot, and salvaged enough to break just a couple bucks ahead for the day.