Forgive Them, Father; They Know Not What They Boo

Tucson; Buskers Paradise...

Let's see, when we last left Daniel, he had just made enough money for a new set of strings (bus ride included).

Then, on Tuesday (this) morning, he was woken up by Howard, who dropped off the local sports section ("There's not much in it; it isn't really worth it...) and he went out onto the Big Clock spot.

It was 8:45 a.m. when he got there, and beside his two liter bottle of Mountain Hollar, he broke out his guitar and played "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" and then "Sea Breeze," and then "Good Morning Starshine," with some random Beatles songs interspersed.

He made about 4 bucks, but realized that he could play there past the time when the bank opened; a time that, in the past, he had been run off by one of the bank employees (people using the ATM have no way of telling if some guy is sitting there with a guitar as a prop, waiting to rob them as soon as they get their money, and it makes them nervous).

The previous night, Daniel had built a discreet fire and cooked fish and broccoli, and had remembered to add garlic to the recipe.

He slept pretty well, but had dreams about things beyond the scope of this blog.

The date is approaching for the train hop to points unknown. Mobile is struggling to keep him there, perhaps because of the "misery enjoys company" adage, but is fast running out of ammunition.

That's about it. I worked on the 504 piece jigsaw puzzle for a couple hours today. I might busk tonight a bit at the acoustically superior spot; and; that's about it.

I am playing better, having deserted random improvisation, deeming it the craft of a lazy man who never has to memorize anything, in favor of improvisation that can be repeated at a later time because I am paying attention to the exact notes and not just letting them "fly" without looking back...