Overcrowding Release

I spent the night in the Jefferson Parish Jail.
Now, I am back in New Orleans, at the same library, after having crashed and burned in Avondale, Louisiana.
True, had I sat tight in the car carrier, which was empty and had one of its doors ajar, I would have been blogging from Beaumont, or Houston or Austin or Galveston, or San Antonio.
After the nice officer kicked me out of the rail yard after I voluntarily allowed him to search all my stuff (he was worried that, since I had told him that I had been on a car carrier, that the car carrier was full of cars, and that my bag was hence full of "radios" taken out of the cars). It wasn't.
I left the yard and walked about 4 miles to the nearest Family Dollar/CVS plaza and got an energy drink and a bag of trail mix, which would turn out to be the only thing that I would eat that Tuesday.
After finding the Westwego library and blogging yesterdays post, I went to the bus stop and asked the driver if he went as far as the Wal-Mart which somebody said was "down that way."
He didn't, but, after chatting with him and the other passengers, there formed a consensus that I should be dropped off at a certain truck stop/casino and that I might be able to talk to people and find someone that would bring me to Texas.
I went there. I sat there and noticed how dead it seemed. There were a few trucks in the parking lot, but, I was informed by the cashier in the convenience store that, although she had no problem with me asking for a ride to Texas and even sitting out front with a sign that said "Texas," (and busking out a few Dylan tunes??) that hardly any of the truck drivers were inside the casino, having chosen to go off (by cab?) to other places while they waited the required period before they were allowed to drive some more...at least 8 hours rest per day, please...remember the Great Crash Of '99 when all those schoolchildren on that bus perished because the driver of that semi fell asleep while doing 80....
I was running to the store next door for beer, as it happened to be much cheaper than the beer at the casino. It was dead.
There were train tracks not far up the road, I was informed by the cashier.
I had strayed pretty far from the east end of the rail yard where I had been accosted that morning. I was now at the west end, five miles down the line. It was late evening and surely the same cop that had warned me that morning that I would go to jail if he ever saw me on "any railroad property within the state of Louisiana" was surely off duty by then.
I have found, in life, that really intense warnings are usually given in order to dissuade people from doing things that they can easily get away with. For example, if they don't have the manpower to police a certain area, in leau of the manpower, they will post a most formidable sign, threatening life imprisonment or the like, as if to say, we can't be here to stop them, but maybe the strong language on this sign will deter them...
I thought about this, and I drifted down the road from the casino where the tracks crossed a road not a half mile away.
I Get Railroaded
I didn't like the looks of it. There were three trains with their lights on and pointed towards Texas, but there were intense spotlights illuminating them.
I went the opposite direction from all of the "no trespassing" signs, and sat on a hillside, by the tracks and just watched for a while, drinking my third Red Dog beer (when you are travelling, it is good to be economical with your decisions).
After watching the trains and how they were leaving the yard, accelerating; not stopping to back up and attach more cars to their ass ends, I decided "Screw it, I'm going back to the truck stop/casino to try to get a ride.
I was doing just that; I had waited in front of the flashing, bell ringing arm which had come down to stop traffic, while a particularly slow train (though accelerating) and consisting in large part of  the kind of cars that are unsuitable to ride on; passed.
The arm finally went up, after the train was 100 yards beyond the road. I walked across the tracks, heading towards the casino when I heard a horn honk and was suddenly awash in blue and red lights, like a poor mans disco.
A guy stepped out of the Crown Victoria and said that he needed to talk to me. He was burly and had a crew cut and looked like most of the rail yard police that I had ever seen. He asked me for ID.
Upon seeing the name on the ID, he said "The officer that spoke to you this morning -what did he say would happen if he found you hanging around the tracks?"
I tried to correct him by saying "He said that if he found me on railroad property..."
"Which you were, when you were sitting by the ditch over there..." he jumped in.
I told him that I had sat at the casino and couldn't get a ride and that I was then just looking for a place to sleep, so as to try again the next day.
I had heard once that the railroad owns only 15 yards to each side of their tracks; I was, where I sat, certainly further removed from the gravel substrate of the tracks, which seems to extend just about 15 yards on each side as I sat on a hillside about 30 yards from the nearest track.
The guy arrested me and took me to the Jefferson Parish Jail, in the opposite direction that I was trying to travel, and just over the river from New Orleans.
That place was like a crash course in everything that I ever hated about any jail anywhere.
It was overcrowded (incarceration is probably the biggest "industry" in this country, having overtaken Coca Cola) of course.
Overcrowding
The booking process took about 9 hours, though, when you did the math -10 minutes to fill out the booking report, 10 minutes to fingerprint, 10 minutes for medical to ask you if you are thinking about taking your life and if you are allergic to "anything,"- and then multiplying that by the number of inmates in the typically frigid (to fight germs) holding cell, it didn't add up.
Of course, you would see a corrections officer talking on her cellphone, eating snacks and lazily flipping over a piece of paper every once in a while and calling the name of another detainee.
Don't Drink The Water
I slept as much as I could, even managing to block out the sounds of "the loud guy," who is always in a holding cell and who wants to tell his story and show off his lungs at the same time.
There was "the guy who stands at the window, looking out" who seems to be fascinated by the inner workings of a jail, or he thinks that they will book him faster if he stands there and stares them down for hours...
The jail was disgusting. The toilet in the holding cell smelled so strongly of "unwashed for months toilet" that very few people even drank of the water fountain attached to the commode, because they had to hold their nose while doing so, or the water they drank would taste like urine.
Then, Why Did You Ask?
In the morning, after having tried to sleep the whole time, after having my huge backpack searched and my sesame oil, mustard, hot sauce and garlic salt thrown into a trash barrel in front of me, after I was told that "you can't have any food in your property" and being told to take the elastic off of my pony tail (so that my mugshot would look like I really was a dangerous, freaky looking criminal) and being asked to open my mouth, so that they could take a DNA sample, because of a urinating in public charge in Saint Augustine, Florida, which was "upgraded" to indecent exposure by a quick witted officer, after I had told him "I haven't even urinated yet!" (to which he replied: Oh, well that's worse...now you're standing there with your genitals exposed...THAT'S a sex crime!!").
I wondered why they said "We're going to take a DNA sample, ok?," when they hadn't said "We're going to take a mug shot, ok?" or "We're going to pat you down, ok?"
I think it is because I could have refused to open my mouth and let them swab inside it, telling them that I would gladly do it if they were to obtain a court ordered search warrant, signed by a judge. I told them just that.
They said: "We could strap you down and get it that way..." at which point I could have asked them "Would that be legal?" after which they might have said "Alright, smart ass," and put their swabs away.
I really don't plan upon committing a heinous crime where my DNA will link me to the scene, but, it is just the principle of the thing.
I let them swab my mouth, although thinking in the back of my mind that I was being manipulated, I couldn't help add: "I guess now, I'll have to to completely incinerate my victims beyond recognition, instead of letting them go, like I used to; good job, guys..."
I think part of the reason that I am a free man right now is that, those imbeciles don't know what the hell "incinerate" even means...
They've Got Easy Jobs
The staff of the Jefferson Parish Jail, apart from appearing lackadaisical, used profanity extensively. One of the correctional officers, who was a black lady, at one point said something which came out as "ess-cuse me" (I'm pretty sure that she was trying to say "excuse me" to someone.)
I asked her "Don't you have to be at least a high school graduate to get your job?" and then corrected her pronunciation. Luckily for me, I don't think she ever had a clue as to what my point was.
At about 10 p.m. this morning, without ever having gone in front of a judge, I was called out of the holding cell, where I had been laying on a bare metal bunk with no mattress ("someone threw up the mattress," was the explaination for that) along with a couple other guys.
Overcrowding Release
My guitar and backpack were sitting on the floor a couple of feet from where I stood. I took this to be a positive sign of my being released.
It was.
I was handed a sheet of paper upon which was written "Overcrowding Release."
I signed it and was soon out on the streets of Gretna, Louisiana, asking directions to the nearest bus line to take me anywhere. I got on a bus which took me right back to New Orleans -dropped me off right in front of this library, as a matter of fact- and that is where I am.
I did notice that I felt a flexibility and a sense of autonomy when I was out there, without Howard.
It's kind of nice to only have only oneself to argue with over every decision, and only yourself to kick yourself in the ass when you wind up sleeping next to a stinking toilet.
The security guard here at the library, told me that he had seen Howard "this morning." Howard must have thought that I had tried to lose him, and just returned to the life that he has come to know, never missing a sausage McMuffin in the process...I don't know what is up with that, I haven't spoken to him yet.

I'm not Daniel, I come from California,
 surely you must be mistaken

I just may try to slip away on my own, jumping a train out of the same yard here, where they really don't seem to care (just get them out of here!). I'm not sure.
Resources Have Dwindled
I have spent my money down to a pathetic amount. They booked me into the jail with 54 dollars and change, and that was yesterday evening.
I might have to play Bourbon Street a little more, taking a risk, or just try to train hop again, but just not step off the train anywhere near Avondale, Louisiana. (does the overcrowding mean carte blanche on trainhopping?)
I could just make my money, rip up my summons to appear and get on out of here.
I'm sure that I can change my identity and come back from California a different man. Thank God for places like The Rebuild Center, that can help a homeless man get an ID when he has none at all and is no different from The Man Who Fell To Earth...