Slow News Day

It is Thursday morning,

I know, it isn't a very "giant" whale, and the cars
are from the 1940's, but it's a dream!

I woke up with 86 cents in my pocket, but I had a lot of smoked brats, two loaves of bread and some corn chips, which I had gotten from the Save-Even-More, and an empty bottle of Mountain Hollar cherry flavored pop.
I had woken up thirsty, in the middle of the night, and emptied the Mountain Hollar, which is very similar to Mountain Dew code red, eerily similar, actually -amazing how two companies, thousands of miles apart, working independently could both come up with the same red cherry flavored drink with a lot of caffeine in it and then name it "Mountain" something...
Then, I went back to sleep and had the tortured dreams which I always seem to have when I drink a lot of caffeine before going back to sleep. The smoked brats, themselves, were nightmares waiting to happen, also. These dreams are always hybrids of what is really going on, and what I am just dreaming is going on. I was being chased by a giant killer whale, which was able to swim through the streets of Mobile, yet, there was a train rumbling along beside me, as I ran.
I woke up, and there was indeed a train passing by, 20 feet away but; no sign of the whale.
I left some smoked brats and a loaf of bread and some corn chips at Howard's feet when I came "in" around 11 p.m., with a note telling him to wake me up when he got up around 7, to go for his coffee and newspaper.
I was planning upon playing at the "big clock" spot, on the corner of Royal and Dauphine streets, for the early morning "business" people. This has netted me 7 or 8 bucks in the past.
I didn't play there, though, because there was a piece of heavy machinery making a lot of noise.
Last night, I made $2.85 in about an hour off of the 20 people or so, who walked past.
The Cookie Monster
There was a short black guy in a yellow shirt with a round head who was running across the street from Bienville Park, intercepting every pedestrian and saying "Excuse me, can you help a man get a cookie? I need one dollar; just one dollar, so I can get a cookie."

Since it's a slow news day,
Here is the girl that bought me
a beer at Phat Tuesday's Tuesday night.
Her name is Yo-Jonesy, which I had mis-
spelled, along with the name of the bar...oops.
I forgot to ask her if she wants to come home with
me on Christmas, to meet my mother...oops, again!

I wanted to yell "He ain't gonna get no cookie!," but I couldn't yell it because A: He might; just might, this one time; have gone and gotten a cookie. B: The exchanges between him and every pedestrian had nothing to do with me; he wasn't talking to me, and it was none of my business (except for the fact that people are less likely to stop and pull out their wallets to throw me a couple bucks with him lurking there,). And C: There is no C, except when I went into the Dauphine Market, to spend one of the dollars that I made on a beer, he walked in shortly thereafter.
I said "More cookies?!? You must really like cookies!"
He didn't respond, just walked past the cookies and to the cooler, grabbed a can of beer, paid for it in change, and then walked out.
That was about the highlight of the evening. That, and the fact that John the street preacher is back in town, having been to Los Angelos, Houston, New York and other places.
He stopped to talk to me at my spot, as about a dozen people walked by when I wasnt' playing. I didn't mind. It's God's way of keeping my beer consumption at a minimum; He sends John the street preacher by to talk to me so the tourists will walk past and not throw me any beer money. John, if you're reading this, I'm just kidding. If you're not, then, I'm not kidding.