Similar Thoughts

It was 19 years ago today, that I packed all my possessions in a 1983 Chevy Cavalier station wagon and began a drive from Massachusetts to Florida.
In my growing excitement, as I drove, and to dissuade myself from chickening out and turning the car around to go back to the familiar miseries of the life that I was to leave behind, rather than to risk a worse fate in the life that I might find ahead, I didn't stop.

I Could Be In Utopia
I was also aware that, should the 1983 Chevy break down anywhere along the way, then that would become my new location by default.
I could be a long time resident of Utopia, Virginia right now, for example, should the clutch have gone out at that point; and there is no telling what kind of life I would be having now.
But, they really built those Cavaliers; not only did the car make it to Middleburg, Florida (in 21 hours), with 235K miles on it; I wound up using it to deliver pizza in Florida and ran the odometer up to 318K miles, before deciding to trade it in, because it needed both a water pump and the drivers side door handle replaced.
That was 19 years ago, today, and now, I contemplate embarking on a journey for Tucson, Arizona, where I will surely meet up with the same friends whom I wound up staying with in Florida.
Of course, I was making pretty good money delivering pizza in the Cavalier ($2,100 on a good month, $1,850 in a bad one) and that was probably the oil that smoothed the way for me being allowed to rent a room from those friends.
I'm not calling them materialistic, but, there was not charity to be had from them; and the couple of times that I was in between jobs, once after being fired, the other time after having my car stolen, those friends decided that it was in my best interest to move out of their house, so I could be closer to the city and within walking distance of employment opportunities.
It will be interesting to see how red the carpet is which might be rolled out for a busker, who makes 800 dollars in a good month; 650 in a bad month.
In 19 years, their perspective may have changed somewhat; but I adhere to the adage about the leopard and its spots.

I, of course, won't NEED to have a couch in their garage to crash on, and an outlet to plug my computer into, but it will be interesting to see if they offer any such.
30 Dollar Friday Night
I made about 30 bucks Friday night. There seemed to be a group of people from out of town; and they were pretty generous.
By 2 a.m., I was ready to call it quits, so with my pocket stuffed with one dollar bills, which must have looked like Fort Knox to the simple-minded street people, I began a circuitous route back to my sleeping spot, first moving in the direction of the Shell Station, as if I was running to the store to redeem some of my money for beer. I wanted to see if I picked up any tails.
I had "broken down" my case periodically (taking out handfuls of bills and stuffing them in my pocket, leaving only around 7 and some change in there) but, a couple times, during certain songs, an additional 7 bills went into the case after a particularly generous group passed, and before I could break it down, the "wrong element" walked past and took note of the bank notes which I had made off my musical notes and, in the words of Archie Bunker, were "beating on the tom-tom drums." My 29 one dollar bills had become the stuff of urban legend.
Cat And Mouse

So, the game of cat and mouse was on.
After feigning to walk in the direction of the Shell station, a course which would take me through dark deserted passageways, I altered my direction towards an alley which emerges onto Dauphin Street at the point where two police cars are perpetually parked on Friday and Saturday nights with the cops standing nearby in front of Club 5' 4".
As I approached the entrance to the alley, I noticed an unfamiliar young black man wearing a Hilfiger hoodie, who had been on a course to fall in behind me, should I have continued in the direction of the store, but who had altered his course to fall in behind me after I entered the alley.
An out-of-towner would probably not know about the two cops at the other end of the alley, and might think that it was just the place to jump a white boy and take his 29 one dollar bills, his cigarettes and maybe even his backpack and guitar.
The Hilfiger hoodie was somewhere behind me when I came out on Dauphin and made some small talk with the cops, after they gave me a "what are you doing back there in that alley and creeping up behind us?" look.
"I'm just making sure I'm not being followed," I answered; perhaps a bit unwittingly, as one cop just stared at me for a second and didn't respond otherwise.
I couldn't help wonder what was going through his mind. I wanted Hilfiger hoodie to think that I might have said something like "Just to let you know, the guy in the hoodie seems to be following me," or something that might prompt them to take notice of him; realize that they had never seen him before, and maybe even try to ID him, to see if he is "in the system" and if so, what for...just a few strong-arm robberies; minor stuff...
The cop kind of froze for a second, and I wondered if he was baffled over the concept of actually protecting and serving a homeless street musician ...been harassing you for so long; now you want me to do a complete 180º here...I'm not sure how to react...
I started walking along the safety of Dauphin Street, towards the swank hotel with its aura of safety which enshrouds it and its $275/per night per room denizens.
I walked past a couple who were standing next to their vehicle, about to get in.
Hilfiger hoodie was still behind me.
I went about 20 feet into Bienville Square and went behind a tree, as if to urinate.
This was designed to make Hilfiger hoodie tip his hand. If I was so drunk that I couldn't even wait until I got to a rest room then it may have have prompted him to try to push his luck and try to mug me behind the huge oak tree, where I stood there, not urinating, but watching.
It is customary, when someone is urinating, to give them some privacy. There is nothing so important that it can't wait until a guy is finished with his "business" before approaching him. Even if you're "dying" for a cigarette. If Hilfiger hoodie had started to approach me, he would have given away his intentions, and I wouldn't have to take the time to stop what I was "doing," zip myself up etc. I could hop right back into the bright lights and video surveillance of Dauphin Street at his slightest movement towards me.
As I stood, peering around the side of the tree, Hilfiger hoodie stopped and tried to panhandle the couple who quickly got into their vehicle, closed and locked the doors.
I started back the way I had come, as if I only came to the park to relieve myself and was going back to my playing spot, perhaps.
The hoodie had started to walk down the sidewalk in my direction after being rebuffed by the couple.
This had us crossing paths right in front of the vehicle that the couple sat locked inside of.
I stared him in the eyes as I was about to pass him. He didn't seem to be ready to even speak, so I said "What's up?" in a tone meant to convey "What the hell are you up to?"
He mumbled something and then continued on, perhaps realizing that, to turn around and again follow me would have been ridiculously blatant.
Well, I got to the next corner and, gosh darn it, I "changed my mind" about going back to my playing spot. I guess I just couldn't make up my mind about anything. I must be confused (and an easy target). I started heading directly into the closed and deserted park; on a beeline for the swank hotel; on a path which would take me past the big Christmas Tree which had already been put up, but hadn't been lit yet; and stood there as dark as its shadowy surroundings.
Well, by the time I had gotten to one corner of Bienville Square, where I abruptly changed my mind and reversed direction, Hilfiger hoodie was at the opposite corner, and must have changed HIS mind, gosh darnit, because he turned around and was now on a coarse to intercept me right about where the Christmas Tree was; how festive...
I continued to walk towards the tree.
Hilfiger hoodie now began to stumble along in an exaggerated manner, as if totally drunk. He grabbed a light post as if to steady himself and then teetered a bit; then continued; almost fell on his face and then stopped at one of the trash barrels by the Christmas tree and leaned over it; as if about to wretch.
Well, I had seen enough.
I changed my direction yet again, picked up my pace and headed back towards Dauphin Street. The hoodie was soon behind me and had sobered up remarkably, wasn't staggering at all.
I got to the edge of a parking lot and waved to the yellow shirted attendant, who waved back. Then I stood there and stared at the hoodie as he walked past in the same place and same direction as he had been when I first noticed him.
I then lost him, by taking a special route which, to me, is kind of like the plan to evacuate the President from The White House in the event of an emergency; through places where can be seen several blocks behind with no place for a tail to hide; past swank hotels with their auras of safety; and eventually along the railroad tracks after waiting for a passing train to use as a cover.
I slept like a baby; after the Mission Impossible theme song (which inevitably starts up in your head while running along using a train as cover) faded out of my head; to be replaced by the sound of Howards ferocious snoring.
Saturday, I didn't make crap, as noted in yesterdays post.
Sunday, I watched Football and managed to spend only 5 bucks all day.
This morning, I was up with the sun, it was 67 degrees.
Howard dropped off the sports section of the daily paper and informed me that it was "about 7:30 a.m.

We talked for a while about the amazing New England Patriots offensive attack, Howards success in locating his daughters address using a paid for Internet service so that he could send her money for her birthday, and our upcoming train hop for points west.
I was at the Big Clock Spot at 8:05 a.m., played for an hour and a half, mostly "Monday, Monday," by The Mamas And The Papas, and made about 10 dollars.
Two Laptop Problem
My plan is to maybe try to get the power adapter for the Samsung laptop from Radio Shack (even though it is about a 3 mile walk to that place) so I can eventually stop carrying two of them in my pack.
I don't know what I will do with this one; it has sentimental value, having been a gift from Martin In West Virginia. The battery in the Samsung would give me instant mobile recording capabilities, so I can take advantage of acoustically superior spots.
The Hilfiger hoodie was just another sign that 'tis the season for moving along.
Pit Stop In Nola?
The first matter to decide will be wheather or not to make a pit stop in New Orleans. We probably should not, because that city has a tendency to trap one there; with the promises of one big event after another.
Plus, New Orleans, to me, meant Sue, the Colombian Lady, to me. And, as far as I know, she has flown away from there.
It gets just as cold in New Orleans as it does here, and that kind of cold would be unacceptable without a Colombian Lady for warmth...