Rock Guitar Fake Book

The Note At The Sign
I left the library yesterday with 15 cents in my pocket.

Stopping at the sign spot, intending to drop off a couple of heavy items, I changed my mind after I saw a trash bag sitting there, which had a note attached saying: "If you put this stuff back, we will throw it away. Will be back Thursday." 

In the bag were the few books and clothing which we had "hidden" in the branches of the trees overhead, and Howards extra bag of stuff. 

I left my own note for Howard, which was redundant by the time he read it, since it only told him something like "I found this when I got here." 

I didn't have time to go back to the library to tell him about it, (when you have 15 cents total on you, other things take on more importance) and figured that he would know what to do: take the stuff that he wanted to keep and put it somewhere else. 

The cardboard was gone, and the mulch bed had been sprayed with a white substance that kind of looked like Epsom salt, dissolved in water. I found a nickel, covered with it.
Divine Intervention

I took my 20 cents and made a beeline for Decatur Street. 

Sue was nowhere to be seen. Nobody else whom I talked to had seen her, either. 

It was still daylight as I sat and started to play, trying to conjure up energy. Most of the people walking past were either panhandlers or employees of the neighboring businesses. 

I started my case out with 6 cents, as that had seemed to be a "lucky" amount the other two times that I used it. 

The few tourists that I saw seemed to be holdovers from the previous few nights, staying at that hotel that has the "Do not tip the street performers" sign hanging over the door on the way out. 

After about 50 of them passed, all with the same look on their faces, I just stopped playing, thinking that they were all of the same mind, and that I was just as likely to get something from someone of a different mind; one who supports street musicians on general principle, just because of the profession that they have chosen -the ones that will throw you a buck while you are tuning, or are just taking your instrument out; or the ones that will throw you a buck because they see that you only have 6 cents in your case. 

But, then I got to thinking that there were also those who will tip only because they like the song or because they can hear that you have put in a certain amount of practice, to have gotten to your level, and will "reward" that. Then, I thought that people, by nature, are NOT all of the same mind, that I was pigeon-holing them and that the very next group of tourists might be different from the previous 12.
I decided to just play, because that's what I do.

Soon I was playing pretty well, having shaken off the lethargy which comes from starting out totally sober, and actually started to enjoy myself. 

Then, across the street, I saw a group of about a dozen, mostly teenagers, but chaperoned by a few adults. 

They crossed over towards me, as I was playing "Me And My Uncle," a "cowboy" song that the Grateful Dead did. 

One of them handed me a zip-lock bag, containing all kinds of hygiene items. I thanked them profusely, telling them how much I needed stuff like that, especially with the heat and humidity requiring me to wash up and change my shirt 3 times a day.

"What were you playing?" asked the male adult.

"That was actually a cowboy song," I said.

"Oh, well that's good," he replied, because we're from Texas"

I started to tell them the story in the song, but when I got to what happens at the end, I said "well," and just played it, rather than explain.

7 dollars went into my case.

"Thank you, so much. That seems to happen a lot when I feel like quitting and force myself to keep going," I said.

I played them "Tears In Heaven," sensing that they were a church group, and thanking God that they didn't seem to want me to hold hands with them and ask Jesus to come into my heart "...and ask him loud enough so we all can hear you, please..

I just feel that missionaries wouldn't put people on the spot like that if they were actually full of the love of God.

"I like that song," said one of the adult women.

They went their way, and I continued to play, bolstered with having made more money then, than I had in the prior two days. I can't help playing better and with more energy after a nice tip. 

Then along came a street person type guy, who squatted next to me and asked "Did they give you anything?" I thought he was going to ask me for some money, but soon realized that he was trying to establish a rapport with me as a fellow street musician, for he was indeed "The guy who plays guitar but doesn't have one." 

He wanted to play my guitar, of course he wanted to play my guitar. 

He promised "I'll be gentle with your baby." 

I let him play, though he wasn't as gentle as I would have preferred and wasn't very skillful, he played a lot of major chords with added notes and seemed to think that he had invented them. "Listen to this chord I came up with," he said; referring to one of them. 

While he was playing, a lady handed me a dollar, though. 

He soon left, after I told him that I needed to get back to work. 

I made another dollar before a delivery girl on a bike then came along and gave me a Styrofoam container full of Thai food, saying that it was not what the particular customer had ordered and that they were just going to throw it away. 

I took a break to eat it which I did while walking along and looking for Sue.

She was so well hidden that I never did.

I wound up sleeping outside the library (Howard was there) rather than the sign spot, though I could have slept at the latter.

September 12th Courtdate

The court gave me a date of September 12 th, to face the charge of "Disturbing the peace."

I will be long gone by then, but it gives me a grace period, when I could come back here, maybe to see Sue, certainly not to busk...

Hanging On By A String  

I am now going to go to the music store on Decatur and purchase one guitar string to replace the broken one, and then will basically repeat last night's performance in the hope of having enough money to get to Baton Rouge tomorrow.

I still have the latest book which Sue checked out of the library for me, a Rock Guitar Fake Book with hundreds of songs, many of which I will add to my list, which has 96 songs, as of this writing.

I will have to return the book to the library or return to New Orleans in the future to return the book to the library; because I don't want to get Sue in trouble with whomever lent her his library card....