And so, I left the library at around 4 p.m.
I had 44 cents on me.
I walked the sidestreets around Bourbon, looking for a drink to put me in the mood to play.
There was a time when I would have sat down and began to play music for my first beer of the night, but I have actually found it to be quicker to walk the perimeter of Bourbon Street looking for drinks which people sipped then discarded (12 dollars down the drain...)within the view of the first person like myself to come along.
I soon found a big cup of what tasted and looked like (red) some mixologists attempt to make a "Hurricane." This particular one was too heavy on the tequila, which was just fine with me but probably repulsed the faint of heart person who ditched it.
This curcuitous route took me past certain street performers on Royal Street, such as Brian Hudson and Christina Friis; and another guy further down, who looks to be about 49 years old (and a little burned out,) and who plays an acoustic guitar through an amp and sings things like James Taylor and other recognizable stuff.
He is an alright musician but, in my opinion, he doesn't bring any of his own artistry into the performance of the songs.
He doesn't seem bumbed out when singing "Fire And Rain," for example; and he doesn't really emanate the kind of reverance that one might hold for a friendship when singing "You've Got A Friend."
His message seems to be: "Hey, I put on new strings and have fresh batteries in my amp, and I'm sure you know these songs; so come on with the tips, dammit!"
I Get My First Beer
I walked all the way to the far end of the Quarter, to a spot where I know that some homeless person, probably a pan handler, sleeps.
I say, probably a pan handler, because the person tends to leave a lot of change scattered amongst the gravel by the side of the trolley tracks where he/she sleeps.
Sure enough, I found about 60 cents on the ground.
I started to make my way towards the Unique Boutique, thinking that I would have my first beer and then continue to Canal Street to play.
Royal Street just seemed like an uphill battle, and the thought of trying to take my place amongst the other performers and out perform them or otherwise divert the attention of people was not appealing to me.
I got a Hurricane Lager and then went to the Rubenstiens spot and played for about an hour.
One guy stood and listened for a while and, when I was packing my stuff up after only making a handful of change, he came over and handed me 20 bucks and told me that he appreciated my talent and all the hard work that surely must have gone into the honing of my technique.
We talked for a while and then he offered to buy me a beer.
We went to the Unique Boutique, by way of another curcuitous route which took us around a block which had been roped off by the police because a mysterious backpack had been left somewhere and an anonymous phone call made, claiming that the backpack was going to explode and turn Canal Street into another Boylston Street (the site of the bombings in Boston).
The guy bought me a whole 6 pack of my favorite brew; and told me that he was going to get me some new strings and would give them to me tonight, at one of the spots which I told him that I was likely to be at.
I started for the ferry terminal, sipping one of the beers and carrying the other 5.
It actually crossed my mind to find someone who seemed desperate for a beer and give him one; but then I thought that "desperate" just means too lazy to do anything to add value to the lives of others; and that the dynamic was likely to turn towards him saying something like "Give me another one; you've got a whole 6 pack!" or some other thing which might cause me to come upside his head with the bottle I was holding...
I missed the last ferry by minutes and headed for the dock to sleep.
This was fortuitous, as, I soon began to hear the sound of rainfall on the river.
I thought about Howard across the river saying "Oh, wow!," as if he thought it could never rain here, and grabbing his stuff up to run with it for the shelter of the ferry terminal. (there is a perfectly good bridge right by the terminal; in fact the very one which cars traverse to board the ferry, which I need to point out to Howard; it has been right there in front of our noses the whole time; but I only recently jumped the low wall of the levy and investigated it and found it to be dry; even after a rainstorm).
I had 44 cents on me.
I walked the sidestreets around Bourbon, looking for a drink to put me in the mood to play.
There was a time when I would have sat down and began to play music for my first beer of the night, but I have actually found it to be quicker to walk the perimeter of Bourbon Street looking for drinks which people sipped then discarded (12 dollars down the drain...)within the view of the first person like myself to come along.
I soon found a big cup of what tasted and looked like (red) some mixologists attempt to make a "Hurricane." This particular one was too heavy on the tequila, which was just fine with me but probably repulsed the faint of heart person who ditched it.
This curcuitous route took me past certain street performers on Royal Street, such as Brian Hudson and Christina Friis; and another guy further down, who looks to be about 49 years old (and a little burned out,) and who plays an acoustic guitar through an amp and sings things like James Taylor and other recognizable stuff.
He is an alright musician but, in my opinion, he doesn't bring any of his own artistry into the performance of the songs.
He doesn't seem bumbed out when singing "Fire And Rain," for example; and he doesn't really emanate the kind of reverance that one might hold for a friendship when singing "You've Got A Friend."
His message seems to be: "Hey, I put on new strings and have fresh batteries in my amp, and I'm sure you know these songs; so come on with the tips, dammit!"
I Get My First Beer
I walked all the way to the far end of the Quarter, to a spot where I know that some homeless person, probably a pan handler, sleeps.
I say, probably a pan handler, because the person tends to leave a lot of change scattered amongst the gravel by the side of the trolley tracks where he/she sleeps.
Sure enough, I found about 60 cents on the ground.
I started to make my way towards the Unique Boutique, thinking that I would have my first beer and then continue to Canal Street to play.
Royal Street just seemed like an uphill battle, and the thought of trying to take my place amongst the other performers and out perform them or otherwise divert the attention of people was not appealing to me.
I got a Hurricane Lager and then went to the Rubenstiens spot and played for about an hour.
One guy stood and listened for a while and, when I was packing my stuff up after only making a handful of change, he came over and handed me 20 bucks and told me that he appreciated my talent and all the hard work that surely must have gone into the honing of my technique.
We talked for a while and then he offered to buy me a beer.
We went to the Unique Boutique, by way of another curcuitous route which took us around a block which had been roped off by the police because a mysterious backpack had been left somewhere and an anonymous phone call made, claiming that the backpack was going to explode and turn Canal Street into another Boylston Street (the site of the bombings in Boston).
The guy bought me a whole 6 pack of my favorite brew; and told me that he was going to get me some new strings and would give them to me tonight, at one of the spots which I told him that I was likely to be at.
I started for the ferry terminal, sipping one of the beers and carrying the other 5.
It actually crossed my mind to find someone who seemed desperate for a beer and give him one; but then I thought that "desperate" just means too lazy to do anything to add value to the lives of others; and that the dynamic was likely to turn towards him saying something like "Give me another one; you've got a whole 6 pack!" or some other thing which might cause me to come upside his head with the bottle I was holding...
I missed the last ferry by minutes and headed for the dock to sleep.
This was fortuitous, as, I soon began to hear the sound of rainfall on the river.
I thought about Howard across the river saying "Oh, wow!," as if he thought it could never rain here, and grabbing his stuff up to run with it for the shelter of the ferry terminal. (there is a perfectly good bridge right by the terminal; in fact the very one which cars traverse to board the ferry, which I need to point out to Howard; it has been right there in front of our noses the whole time; but I only recently jumped the low wall of the levy and investigated it and found it to be dry; even after a rainstorm).
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