Friday, October 4, 2013

At A Loss For A Title

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Southern Flannel Moth Checks In
This morning, I slept until almost 10 a.m. at the sign spot.
There were no empty containers of sushi or anything else by me, as Rouses has stopped putting out those items at night, inexplicably. "Maybe they sold it all," was all I could get out of Helen.
I hope that I have not shot myself in the foot with a blog post about free food which was seen by "the wrong person." 
I took out my guitar and warmed up and tuned it.
Then I saw the southern flannel moth on my guitar case, and flicked it off with a stick and ground it into the mulch with my boot.
I felt the dull pain setting into my left pinkie and I knew that it had gotten me, somehow.
It is a minor "bite" (as its fur is coated with some kind of venom and one must touch it in order to be "bitten") but still I am perplexed over how the things seem to position themselves right where a pinkie finger is destined to land on top of them.
Hopefully the slight pain I feel will be short lived.
Tropical Storm Sunday
Meanwhile, there is a tropical storm due to arrive on Sunday, and I imagine that I will have to try to busk as much as possible before then, and then stock up on food when my card gets 200 bucks added to it tomorrow morning at 5 a.m., and then prepare to go way up under the dock for perhaps a day or two.
Leslie's house is an option, but he will surely be hosting his two wheelchair bound friends, Charlie and Susan.
I say "bound," although I did see Charlie once jump up out of his chair and kick a trash bin one night (out of the sight of tourists) when they were not giving him any money.
And, they both get out of their chairs, fold them up, and push them the length of Leslies sidewalk and park them in his kitchen when they arrive.
They will be house bound if not wheelchair bound, and they drink more than me and smoke more than me, and they keep the TV tuned to rather stupid programs instead of putting the radio on.
I might be happier under the dock, where I can at least meditate...
I woke up with "Girls Talk," by Elvis Costello in my head, and am going to fidget around with it and maybe play it tonight...
There are some things you can't cover up with lipstick and powder
I thought I heard you mention my name; can't you talk any louder
Don't come any closer; don't come any nearer
My image of you can't come any clearer
Oh, I just want to hear girls talk
I've got a loaded imagination being fired by girls talk...
But I can't tell you the words you want to hear
I guess you're gonna just have to play it by ear... -Elvis Costello
Now, it is a little past noon on Friday.
I have 2 dollars and 62 cents on me.
Tanya and Dorise have probably made 100 dollars each already.
I will walk Royal Street, past all the amplified musicians and the horn players and will stop to talk to each of them on my way towards my spot, where I will try to set up early and play until it starts raining or something.
Howard Vs. Daniel
First, I will hop the ferry to Algiers, where I will get Howards football picks from him.
We are competing to see who can pick the most winning teams; with the prize to be a meal at the bar where we have watched the Superbowl the past two years, Filippis Taqueria.

1 comment:

  1. Those flannel moths sound nasty. My main problem is mosquitos, because in San Jose window screens are not a thing. Hell, the Internet is barely a thing here.


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