While blogging yesterday, I got a text message from Leslie, who had worked all day cutting concrete, and who was at Checkpoint Charlies, where Paul, his boss had dropped him off; and where they were inside consuming beer "Paul is treating!"
Leslie was expecting to be given an advance from his paycheck, due Friday.
I then got another text telling me that he was on his way to the OZ Center (on Camp Street) for a hot meal, which was to be served at 6 p.m., a half hour after my computer session was to end; and a half hour walk from the library.
It seemed ordained that I should leave the library and join him for the hot meal; as the timing seemed to fall into place so neatly.
Resident in the back of my mind was the fact that I had 50 cents and a 2 dollar Canadian coin, and nothing else, in my pocket.
...and Leslie was expecting to be advanced money by his boss...Sunday morning at Leslie's (left) with the tiposaurus moonlighting as a weedosaurus.
...I made it to the OZ Center in time for a plate of barbecue pork over rice and a piece of corn bread; all hot; most of which I gave to Leslie.
I had found an almost full canister of EAS "15" Lean Protein meal, and decided I would mix some of that up in lieu of that salty, soybean oil laden fare.
Leslie had already attracted Steve to his side; who was shadowing hime; probably with the fact that Leslie had worked all day in the "back" of his mind, also.
Steve is one of several people who have screwed Leslie over in the past (he stole Leslies pipe, after being allowed to shower at his place and use his soap and shampoo etc) and who have been forgiven by Leslie, who has an astounding capacity to forget the past and call each day a new day.
We left the OZ center, and as we walked, Leslie broke the bad news that his boss had declined to advance him any more than 5 dollars; of which he only had 2 left.
Leslie and I were soon walking alone; as Steve soon felt the urge to use the restroom at Popeyes, and branched off in that direction.
I told Leslie that I would just have to sit down at my spot and play on that most dismal of nights, Wednesday, and see what happened.
What happened was, I opened my guitar case to discover that my pick was missing; and I had no more in my pack.
I had lost about 15 picks the past month; in the midst of wild partying and jamming; and the chaos of living the Leslie Life; and the last one could have been laying on his rug in his apartment, or under the dock, or at my playing spot, or...
Then a guy walked up and asked me to play a song, requesting "Lionel (Richie)" or "Michael."
I could have faked my way through one of the simple Richie songs pretty easily, had I a pick, but the encumbrance of trying to play with my thumb, while trying to sound out the chords; produced sloppy results, and the man threw one penny in my case; which I decided to close immediately; then go off trying to get a pick from another musician.
Then, the text came from Leslie that he was on his way to a newly opened club on Frenchman Street, which was owned by the same people who owned The Last Call on Bourbon Street, where Leslie did odd jobs; and where he hoped to borrow money from, in order to get "us" some booze and weed, according to the text.
I had a decision to make:
Rely solely upon myself; find a pick and busk, starting out with 50 cents and a 2 dollar Canadian coin in my case; or pursue Leslie, in order to take him up on his offer; like those fish that swim alongside sharks, feasting upon the small chunks of flesh which miss its mouth.
In hindsight, I made the wrong choice.
I met him at the new bar, where I stood next to him, feeling like a leach, as he tried, without luck to borrow money off someone who was "in a meeting" in the back; and couldn't be reached.
It occurred to me that his employers were possibly withholding money from him to protect him from himself; and to insure that he would be in a decent condition to go to work the following morning at 7 a.m. when they rang his buzzer.
Then, Leslie got a text from Chris, who was on Bourbon Street, across from "Temptations," the strip club where Chris' girlfriend worked.
He said that he had gotten money (the girl had performed a "lap dance" for a customer) and had bought vodka; and Leslie, along with "Guitar Daniel," were invited to consume shots of it.
The text was like a carrot in front of our noses; as we walked from Frenchmen Street, all the way to the 300 block of Bourbon Street, where Chris was nowhere to be seen.
We waited, able to watch the World Series, game 1, through a barroom window.
After a half hour, Leslie texted Chris back..."Where are you?"
Chris answered that he was on the corner of Bienville and Bourbon Streets.
We were on that corner.
Leslie had told Chris and Taylor (his stripper girlfriend) that they could crash at his place.
It felt ridiculous to be waiting for a guy to show up just to give us shots of vodka
Chris eventually arrived, after Leslie used my phone to contact him.
He had very little money, because he and his fiance, as that is how he described her, had had a falling out.
The wedding was off
Chris just wanted to go to sleep at Leslies, stating that he hadn't slept in 3 days.
I wanted to check there for my pick; hoping to busk and make my own money; and take back control of my own life.
Chris bought Leslie a 4 dollar pint of whiskey, then we walked to his place.
I didn't find my pick.
Then, began a volley of texts back and forth between Chris and Taylor.
Then, I made the mistake of letting Leslie use my phone to call Taylor, so that he could play "Leslie The Healer" (the Doctor Phil of Bourbon Street) and burn 50 of my minutes, trying to reconcile the couple.
This went on into the wee hours of the morning.
Finally, Taylor opted to sleep upstairs at the club, rather than have Chris walk her to Leslies apartment after she got off work.
Leslie got 4 more dollars from him at 2 a.m., and set out for Uniques, and another pint of cheap whiskey.
This gave Chris and I a chance to talk; and the conversation soon was revolving around the similarities between Taylor, the stripper, and Karrie, my old girlfriend.
They had both been similarly abused.
Chris soon drifted off to sleep, comforted with the knowledge that his was not a unique situation.
I soon followed suit, despite the radio playing classic rock (Leslie keeps it, or the TV on, all night) and we each slept on the floor until about 4 a.m., when Leslie returned; inebriated, and accompanied by Hector, who was equally inebriated.
Hector
Hector is another character who has screwed Leslie over in the past; lying and stealing and cheating him; and then being (apparently) forgiven by him.
Hector stumbled in and plopped himself down on the only bed; relegating Leslie to the floor in his own house.
Leslie exclaimed: "You're taking my bed?!?" then, affected with feelings of charity, added: "That's alright," in a much kinder tone of voice.
It wasn't my place to say anything, but I was thinking things which I won't repeat here. ...I thought that you had determined that you will never have anything to do with "Hector," doubting that that is even his real name; and having caught him in perpetual lies; most of them grandiose (he's going to get Leslie backstage to meet Trent Resnor of the band Nine Inch Nails when they play the Voodoo Festival next week, for example...
Hector eventually relinquished the bed to Leslie and then took a place on the rug (invasively) close to me.
I removed myself, and my backpack and guitar, to the kitchen and away from him, after noticing that, every time I woke up to reposition myself, He had moved closer to my pack, as if he was considering using it as a pillow.
My sleep was fitful.
The classic rock, which played all night and which spanned just about my entire life; set my mind in motion; bringing back memories of where I was and what I was doing when each song came out; and they were not all good memories; but they all were keeping me awake.
I couldn't help analysing the music; most of which I had attempted to play at some point in my life.
The sun rose, and Chris left to meet Taylor at Temptations. She had gotten a couple lap dances done in the small hours of the morning; and thus had money; and less anxiety; and it could be that the wedding is back on.
Hector and Leslie left, along with myself, at around noon, and went in a different direction than myself, with Hector whispering something to Leslie and leading him into what I can only guess was a wild goose chase of some kind.
Leslie had blown off his workday; having refused to answer his buzzer on only one hour of sleep and still drunk on the cheap whiskey.
I resolved to take my life back and won't stay there again...
Leslie was expecting to be given an advance from his paycheck, due Friday.
I then got another text telling me that he was on his way to the OZ Center (on Camp Street) for a hot meal, which was to be served at 6 p.m., a half hour after my computer session was to end; and a half hour walk from the library.
It seemed ordained that I should leave the library and join him for the hot meal; as the timing seemed to fall into place so neatly.
Resident in the back of my mind was the fact that I had 50 cents and a 2 dollar Canadian coin, and nothing else, in my pocket.
...and Leslie was expecting to be advanced money by his boss......I made it to the OZ Center in time for a plate of barbecue pork over rice and a piece of corn bread; all hot; most of which I gave to Leslie.
I had found an almost full canister of EAS "15" Lean Protein meal, and decided I would mix some of that up in lieu of that salty, soybean oil laden fare.
Leslie had already attracted Steve to his side; who was shadowing hime; probably with the fact that Leslie had worked all day in the "back" of his mind, also.
Steve is one of several people who have screwed Leslie over in the past (he stole Leslies pipe, after being allowed to shower at his place and use his soap and shampoo etc) and who have been forgiven by Leslie, who has an astounding capacity to forget the past and call each day a new day.
We left the OZ center, and as we walked, Leslie broke the bad news that his boss had declined to advance him any more than 5 dollars; of which he only had 2 left.
Leslie and I were soon walking alone; as Steve soon felt the urge to use the restroom at Popeyes, and branched off in that direction.
I told Leslie that I would just have to sit down at my spot and play on that most dismal of nights, Wednesday, and see what happened.
What happened was, I opened my guitar case to discover that my pick was missing; and I had no more in my pack.
I had lost about 15 picks the past month; in the midst of wild partying and jamming; and the chaos of living the Leslie Life; and the last one could have been laying on his rug in his apartment, or under the dock, or at my playing spot, or...
Then a guy walked up and asked me to play a song, requesting "Lionel (Richie)" or "Michael."
I could have faked my way through one of the simple Richie songs pretty easily, had I a pick, but the encumbrance of trying to play with my thumb, while trying to sound out the chords; produced sloppy results, and the man threw one penny in my case; which I decided to close immediately; then go off trying to get a pick from another musician.
Then, the text came from Leslie that he was on his way to a newly opened club on Frenchman Street, which was owned by the same people who owned The Last Call on Bourbon Street, where Leslie did odd jobs; and where he hoped to borrow money from, in order to get "us" some booze and weed, according to the text.
I had a decision to make:
Rely solely upon myself; find a pick and busk, starting out with 50 cents and a 2 dollar Canadian coin in my case; or pursue Leslie, in order to take him up on his offer; like those fish that swim alongside sharks, feasting upon the small chunks of flesh which miss its mouth.
In hindsight, I made the wrong choice.
I met him at the new bar, where I stood next to him, feeling like a leach, as he tried, without luck to borrow money off someone who was "in a meeting" in the back; and couldn't be reached.
It occurred to me that his employers were possibly withholding money from him to protect him from himself; and to insure that he would be in a decent condition to go to work the following morning at 7 a.m. when they rang his buzzer.
Then, Leslie got a text from Chris, who was on Bourbon Street, across from "Temptations," the strip club where Chris' girlfriend worked.
He said that he had gotten money (the girl had performed a "lap dance" for a customer) and had bought vodka; and Leslie, along with "Guitar Daniel," were invited to consume shots of it.
The text was like a carrot in front of our noses; as we walked from Frenchmen Street, all the way to the 300 block of Bourbon Street, where Chris was nowhere to be seen.
We waited, able to watch the World Series, game 1, through a barroom window.
After a half hour, Leslie texted Chris back..."Where are you?"
Chris answered that he was on the corner of Bienville and Bourbon Streets.
We were on that corner.
Leslie had told Chris and Taylor (his stripper girlfriend) that they could crash at his place.
It felt ridiculous to be waiting for a guy to show up just to give us shots of vodka
Chris eventually arrived, after Leslie used my phone to contact him.
He had very little money, because he and his fiance, as that is how he described her, had had a falling out.
The wedding was off
Chris just wanted to go to sleep at Leslies, stating that he hadn't slept in 3 days.
I wanted to check there for my pick; hoping to busk and make my own money; and take back control of my own life.
Chris bought Leslie a 4 dollar pint of whiskey, then we walked to his place.
I didn't find my pick.
Then, began a volley of texts back and forth between Chris and Taylor.
Then, I made the mistake of letting Leslie use my phone to call Taylor, so that he could play "Leslie The Healer" (the Doctor Phil of Bourbon Street) and burn 50 of my minutes, trying to reconcile the couple.
This went on into the wee hours of the morning.
Finally, Taylor opted to sleep upstairs at the club, rather than have Chris walk her to Leslies apartment after she got off work.
Leslie got 4 more dollars from him at 2 a.m., and set out for Uniques, and another pint of cheap whiskey.
This gave Chris and I a chance to talk; and the conversation soon was revolving around the similarities between Taylor, the stripper, and Karrie, my old girlfriend.
They had both been similarly abused.
Chris soon drifted off to sleep, comforted with the knowledge that his was not a unique situation.
I soon followed suit, despite the radio playing classic rock (Leslie keeps it, or the TV on, all night) and we each slept on the floor until about 4 a.m., when Leslie returned; inebriated, and accompanied by Hector, who was equally inebriated.
Hector
Hector is another character who has screwed Leslie over in the past; lying and stealing and cheating him; and then being (apparently) forgiven by him.
Hector stumbled in and plopped himself down on the only bed; relegating Leslie to the floor in his own house.
Leslie exclaimed: "You're taking my bed?!?" then, affected with feelings of charity, added: "That's alright," in a much kinder tone of voice.
It wasn't my place to say anything, but I was thinking things which I won't repeat here. ...I thought that you had determined that you will never have anything to do with "Hector," doubting that that is even his real name; and having caught him in perpetual lies; most of them grandiose (he's going to get Leslie backstage to meet Trent Resnor of the band Nine Inch Nails when they play the Voodoo Festival next week, for example...
Hector eventually relinquished the bed to Leslie and then took a place on the rug (invasively) close to me.
I removed myself, and my backpack and guitar, to the kitchen and away from him, after noticing that, every time I woke up to reposition myself, He had moved closer to my pack, as if he was considering using it as a pillow.
My sleep was fitful.
The classic rock, which played all night and which spanned just about my entire life; set my mind in motion; bringing back memories of where I was and what I was doing when each song came out; and they were not all good memories; but they all were keeping me awake.
I couldn't help analysing the music; most of which I had attempted to play at some point in my life.
The sun rose, and Chris left to meet Taylor at Temptations. She had gotten a couple lap dances done in the small hours of the morning; and thus had money; and less anxiety; and it could be that the wedding is back on.
Hector and Leslie left, along with myself, at around noon, and went in a different direction than myself, with Hector whispering something to Leslie and leading him into what I can only guess was a wild goose chase of some kind.
Leslie had blown off his workday; having refused to answer his buzzer on only one hour of sleep and still drunk on the cheap whiskey.
I resolved to take my life back and won't stay there again...
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