Someone or thing came along early Sunday morning and cut open the back pockets of my trousers with probably a razor blade and took all the cash and my lighter; but left the plastic cards splayed out on the grass, as if to say "Don't feel bad; at least I didn't take your ID or your Wal-Mart credit card.." My guitar case was open and the guitar was half out of it; the pocket open and Tanya and Dorises CD hanging half out (I immediately suspected those two ...come on, Dorise, let's have some fun..we know where Daniel sleeps; I've got a razor blade right here!) I had been crawling well into and under the briar and thorns where it would be hard for anyone to get at me; but didn't do so; probably thinking that it was so late at night (2 a.m.) that, surely all the thieves would be passed out by then... So, I went from laying down at 2 in the morning with (if nothing else) some money to show for participating in the burlesque which had been Saturday night, to waking up with my best lousey pants ruined; no money at all; and I couldn't even light a cigarette and sit there thinking about how shitty the world has become... A First
I wanted to get out of those damaged pants which I had been wearing for 2 days; and to shave and to wash my other clothes and put some of them on. The Money Rock The "money rock," which Ron The Surfer had given to me, telling me as he did that it would attract money to me, was sitting on the cardboard next to me.
I couldn't put it back in the torn pocket, so I put it in one of the pockets of my backpack; and, as I was doing so; I noticed a plastic bag of change which I had forgotten I had. It was about 3 dollars in change.
I swapped it for the money rock. "You're Lucky He Didn't Take Your Kidney!" I went up Royal Street where Tanya and Dorise had just begun to play. I showed them the cut up pockets and told them the story of what had happened; and Tanya lent me 10 dollars.
She seemed more concerned with "You're lucky he didn't take your kidney!" but sympathised with my wanting to wash up and shave and get into clean clothes on that Sunday afternoon.
In the 2 years that I have known them, I haven't asked to borrow any money. They were "pretty broke" 10 years ago when they first started out; and they probably would have respected me if I went out there, dirty, sweaty, smelly, unshaven and not even having a way to light a cigarette and busked up the money to get back on my feet; but I figured that if I only hit them up once every two years for a loan; and then, only after a misfortune AND I pay them back; then it would be OK.
I've heard that's a really common way to get robbed in NOLA and such places. They just look for guys who are passed out drunk and cut their pockets.
ReplyDeleteIf you're well-known for staggering off at the end of a night it'd be really easy for them to follow you.
Yeah, and any one of those Trojan Horse gifts of a free drink left sitting on Lillians step 3 feet away from me could have been laced with any of a half dozen things to bring on the sleep of the dead...I guess the guy figured that after a Saturday night I would be loaded with cash...luckily; I had spent 5 on a sack, 3 on cigarettes and bought an energy drink for the morning; else he might have gotten enough from me to consider making it a regular stop...it's the same guy who got me one other time but only spilled out my backpack; didn't take things like my laptop; and splayed out the credit cards in the same way; It might be the guy who dropped off a bag of cookies by me this morning at about 6 a.m....
ReplyDeleteOh, damn, that's right. I understand a lot of street types have a lot of patience, not a lot else to do on the street, so they'll watch you etc. I had a really fuckin' crazy bum, mostly territorial, whom I kept running across, he'd yell and scream etc and I think he *was* watching me ... well, I think what happened is, one day about 4-6 months ago, there was an ambulance and cops at the metal recycling place next door, and for someone reason I never saw Mr. Crazy Bum again, and his territory seems to belong to a younger guy with a rather well-done "sleeve" of tattoos on his left arm, and I get along with him OK. The main thing was, Mr. Crazy saw me putting my trash *into* dumpsters at night and I guess thought I was making withdrawals lol. My solution to all of 'em is to throw out my shit during the daytime or early evening while it's still light, and mostly far away, scattered dumpsters.
ReplyDeleteBut street fuckers *do* watch a person. I'm sure it's no secret I'm living in the building, since they don't camp out in front and strip wire any more etc.
That's pretty diabolical though., "harvesting" from homeless people you scope out and drug-up once in a while.