The Sixties

Thursday, after waking up
with 63 cents in my pocket and spilling some of my energy drink on the muddy ground where I had layed, I went into the city.
The temperatures were to rise into the sixties this day.
I went stright to Save-A-Lot, to stash my bag and guitar.
Jennifer, one of the assistant managers (I think they are all either managers, or assistant managers; they may have one "regular" employee to boss around) gave me a pack of Marlboro Special Blend 100's, telling me that they were too strong for her.
I then had 63 cents and the means to sell cigarettes for a quarter each, to at least get one beer before playing that night. I blogged at the library until pretty late, and then made the walk down Dauphine Street, intent upon selling cigarettes and getting a beer. I fixed the two strings which had snapped on the Jasmine, one of which by using an ingeniously tied knot to join the two segments.
As I approached Cathedral Park, there was a black guy in a hoodie coming towards me.
"Hey, guitar man, let me borrow a dollar!," he said, as he neared me.
"I don't even have a dollar, I'm trying to sell my cigarettes to get a dollar," I said to him as he walked past me.
At the mention of cigarettes, he stopped and turned around and said "Give me one."
I really hate bums (like that.) I had just told him that I needed to sell them to get some money, but all he heard was "cigarettes."
One might think that, since I was given the cigarettes, I should be equally generous with them. I am, but I do it on my own terms. For example, if I see a guy picking up a "duck" from the sidewalk, I might offer him one of mine, but a guy who has clearly demonstrated that his needs supercede anyone else's does not get the cigarette.
*A "duck" is a cigarette that someone threw down without having finished smoking it; so named because like the mammal, it is often wet on the "ass end." They are also nicknamed "snipes," by some, which I think is derived from the fact that the eye of a sniper is required to spot them from a distance.*
I then walked toward Joachim Street, where I noticed that the lights of the Saenger Theatre were lit, and that there was a concert going on inside.
The American Dream
It was the band "America" (Horse With No Name, Sister Golden Hair Surprise) still at it; a band from the 60's, now in their 60's.
I knew that this was a good opportunity for a guy with an acoustic guitar to pounce. I believe that America is like five guys with acoustic guitars, anyways, with maybe a bassist and drummer.
I tried to sell a couple cigarettes for 50 cents to a guy outside HopJacks, which is next door to the theatre. He said that he had enough cigarettes, but gave me a dollar.
I went and got one Steel Reserve, then returned to the Saenger.
There were a couple of ladies standing out front. The one with the white hair asked me what I had in my case.
"An acoustic guitar, maam"
"A six string?"
Laughing: "Well, it is a six string now. Last night it was a four string."
She told me that she was 60 years old, and that when she is in a dark room there is a glowing aura around her head. "So, where are you going to sleep tonight?" she asked.
"Down by the railroad tracks," I said.
She then gave me a pep talk about never giving up, and about playing music from my soul. She hugged me, then asked me how I was going to stay warm.
I started to explain that I had a sleeping bag and...
She cut me off and said "I know what you have, you have a good soul but you're homeless and broke!" and then handed me five bucks.
Presently, the black guy in the hoodie materialised from somewhere and said "Oh, you got a blessing, huh?"
His implication was clear, now I could "lend" him that dollar that he had asked for, and maybe throw in a cigarette, or two.
Myself and the lady, who had once lived "all over" Vermont, continued to talk, excluding the black man in the hoodie from the conversation, and he soon walked away. If a lady who glows in the dark chose to ignore the guy, then, maybe my "read" of him was right.
Is This The Right Music?
I went back to the beer store, returning to the theater in time for the letting out of a seemingly very small crowd (unless most of them went out the side entrance).
As I set up and tuned my recently fixed strings, I thought about what kind of music I should play for people who had just heard America, with Jim Messina as the opening act.
I hadn't really settled upon anything, but started to play "Going Down The Road (feeling bad)," by The Grateful Dead, thinking as I did "Is this the right music?"
I got almost 10 bucks in one's from the two dozen or so who walked past. Most of them paused to listed for a minute before tipping me, which is intangible, yet as valuable to me as the buck or two that they threw me.
Then, there was just one guy left, sitting in one of the chairs that the HopJacks people use for their smoke breaks.
"What else do you play?" he asked, as I had transitioned into "Eyes Of The World," by the Grateful Dead.
"Well," I said, and then broke into "Sugar Magnolia," by the Grateful Dead, thinking oops, same band; might not  fit the criteria of "else."
"I can't believe you're gonna sit out here and play on this freezing night," he said, as he put a 20 dollar bill in my case.
After a trip to the Exxon, which has apparently unbarred me, after having barred me previously for no apparent reason, I went to sleep at the railroad track spot, cushioned by the 28 bucks in my pocket, and it was only Thursday night.
This morning, the sports section of the Mobile Press Register, had been layed at my feet by Howard, who seems to be adapting to life in Mobile.
I will leave here soon to take the bus to the music store for some new strings and I hope to play this Friday night. Somebody said that it might be an Artwalk night (If the first Friday falls early enough in the month, then the second Friday is counted as the first Friday, but only in months with 5 Fridays, or something like that) but I'd like some new strings, regardless.