I haven't seen nor heard from Leslie since we had a fist fight in the street in front of his place Saturday night.
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| Phase One; Darn It!! |
- A Parcel From London
- My Fight Against Leslie
- My Throat
- The Wharf Rats
I have received an e-mail from my carrier telling me that my mail has been undeliverable for the past 5 days, due to a server problem somewhere.
So: Since I know that they can still see this blog...
Daniel McKenna
1803 Gravier Street
New Orleans, LA 70112
USA
Is the address; and now all of you readers can send me Christmas parcels if you would like!
(Just don't insinuate that I am using this blog in order to skeeze online LOL!)
Alas, The Rebuild Center, which is located at that address will close on December 24th and not reopen until January 2nd.
I have a feeling that it may be a New Years parcel; not to underestimate the Royal Mail service...
Yesterdays "Audience"
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Back To The Present...
The Wharf Rats
Last night, I found out first hand; as the rats who live under the dock where I sleep began to rattle the empty plastic food containers; creating crinkly sounds.
I often open one and place it about 20 feet from where I lay; and will hear it being consumed; and after that; silence, and no close encounters.
I keep the uneaten ones up on the girders where they can't get them; as the dock is specifically engineered to be rat resistant; and they just can't jump that high.
It crossed my mind, as I lay under my 3 blankets, to take one down and throw it over to the feeding spot which I have designated. The food has kept pretty well these past few cold days and had began to pile up some.
The one which I am familiar with, which is about the size of an eggplant, approached to within 3 feet from me; wiggling its nose in a manner which suggested that it was skeezing me.
After all it is a New Orleans rat and has probably picked up on the local customs.
I took down a turkey and Swiss po boy container, opened it just about handed it to him (after taking a little bite, myself).
I could hear it being devoured in the darkness.
A few minutes later, I felt squirrel-like paws tentatively padding over me, and looked to see the eggplant sized rat and two babies nestling at the foot of my blankets, in a cranny. The babies emitted high pitched squeals periodically like new born mice do.
I guess they figured that I had fed them and they were then my pets.
They scattered whenever I stirred or reached for anything around me, but were soon back and I forgot about them and went to sleep myself...
My Throat
I went to see the doctor again at The Rebuild Center about my throat, which is still swollen on the left side; had gotten better, but then worse; and which still irritates me whenever I swallow.
I swallow more often because of it; the way some people just can't leave a scab alone and will keep picking at it.
The doctor now thinks that the swelling may be due to a tooth in my lower jaw which has some decay in it.
The tooth isn't painful, but he said that it didn't have to be; nor infected; in order to cause swelling in the throat. I suppose my Adams apple is rubbing on the swollen area.
When it is at its worse; it bothers me when I play harmonica and I have to make an effort to ignore it and focus upon the music. Eating my forbidden foods has a negative effect upon it.
"In The Summer"
The doctor referred me to (LSU) University Hospital, where I was told that I could make an appointment at the dental clinic; but that it would be for "in the summer" sometime.
The alternative to that is to go through the emergency room and have a doctor examine me; to determine weather or not I will be dead by then from it; and perhaps move me up on the schedule.
Saturday Night's Alright For Fighting
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| Phase Two |
This was Leslie in phase one, or, the "morning" Leslie who was anxious to get there and drink beer and throw the football around and eat chicken and sausages.
All this we did and a splendid time was had by all.
Then, we got back to the Quarter and Paul and Mark were not finished reveling and the 4 of us were soon at a bar, drinking liquor.
This sent Leslie into phase three; evidenced by a polar change in his demeanor when he began to cuss and repeat "I just want to go home and go to sleep."
He wasn't enjoying any of it; the company; the music, not even the liquor.
His friend, Paul, seems to have a certain patience and skill in handling him when he is in this phase.
He repeatedly calmed him down by telling him things like "Nobody is bothering you Leslie. The bartender is not giving you dirty looks. It's Saturday night, we're in the French Quarter; you're with friends; let's enjoy some good music and drink! Look at all the pretty women!"
But "I just want to go home and go to sleep" eventually prevailed.
I had to accompany him to his place to get my guitar and backpack, which I had left there, so as to be less encumbered as I walked and so that I could feel the rare sense of walking around without them on my back in general...and, admittedly, so we would be able to go inside the bar.
Leslie was stumbling and slurring his speech and kept forgetting why I was walking along with him.
It was an ironic twist on his first phase when I "wonder" why he follows me around in the mornings when I have money.
Get It And Go!
We got to his place and he immediately flopped down upon his bed after finding a football broadcast on his radio.
The best thing for me to have done at that point would have been to ask him to let me out of his gate before he passed out, but I didn't.
The game was interesting; I was half as drunk as he; and I sat and listened to it as he slept.
Then, he woke up. Angry and cussing and complaining.
He threw his refrigerator door open and said "I'm getting rid of all of this. I'm throwing it all out!" referring to the food which I had given him.
I was kind of offended and said "Well, you can throw me out at the same time; I want to go and play in front of Lillys."
This further angered him and he replied "You don't have to ask twice!"
He threw open his front door and yelled at me to get out, calling me all kind of derogatory things.
I couldn't "get out" unless he opened the front gate to let me, and I reminded him of that detail.
He made no move to open the gate, but kept me fenced in, while he continued to berate me.
"You left a cigarette butt in the sink?!? You cussed me out in my own house?!"
"Just let me the hell out!" I yelled. "This is false imprisonment; this is kidnapping; you're breaking the law!" I added, trying that approach.
I threatened to knock him out and take his key and let myself out.
"Oh, if you knock me out; you won't wake up tomorrow!" he threatened back.
I finally began to scale the 12 foot high fence after hanging my stuff from the top spires.
He held his phone to his ear and made a show of talking on it, telling an imaginary 911 operator that he had "an unruly house guest who doesn't want to leave," right as I was in the very act of climbing up and over to break out of the place.
I got over the top as he yelled that I was vandalizing the gate.
I landed on the sidewalk and pulled my pack and my guitar down after me in the same time that it took him to unlock the gate and come charging out.
He pushed me back and then stood between me and my stuff.
"You're not taking this stuff with you!"
He had finally pushed the wrong button by standing between me and just about everything that I own; along with my means of acquiring any more.
"The hell, I'm not!" I said, as I bent down to grab my stuff.
It was then that he swung his fist and hit the side of my face.
The next thing that happened was: I gave him a violent shove; and his mouth dropped open in surprise just before my fist hit it; cutting my hand on one of his teeth; and this was followed rapid-fire by another punch to his forehead, which made the sound of and felt like punching a cantaloupe (go figure).
This seemed to stun him; but he didn't go down; not even after I caught him again with my left fist.
I was trying to knock him out.
I feared for my livelihood; I wouldn't have put it past him, at that point, to have smashed my guitar on the sidewalk should he have prevailed over me and so I went all out trying to disable him.
He managed to grab both sleeves of my outer sweatshirt and attempted to get me on the ground with some kind of judo move; but I kept my balance and used my own jujitsu move on him which I learned in the 8th grade whereby I hooked my foot behind is left ankle and shoved his left shoulder simultaneously; and he went down; but pulled me on top of him.
Then he held on to the sleeves of my sweatshirt tenaciously and whimpered "You really hurt me!" as if surprised.
Well, I finally freed myself from his grasp (he almost came after me again after he stood up) and was able to grab my own stuff and leave.
I was very much winded and sweating profusely in my winter garb.
I got to the next corner and realized that my hat had fallen off during the scuffle.
I saw him headed towards the trash can with it in his hand, and when he saw me, he flung it like a Frisbee; probably trying to lose it over someones wall, but it landed close to me, and I retrieved it and once again left the area.
Messing with my hat had been the cause of my last confrontation with a skeezer, but I just wanted to get out of there.
On the very next corner, I found a whole cigarette.
Then someone walked up to me and handed me a joint.
Then someone handed me a playing card; the king of diamonds...
Hahaha skeezers fighting! One of the joys of New Orleans.
ReplyDeleteOK pal, you've got the quinsy again, you need to gargle with salt water regularly and swallow hard on the sore place to force the pus out. And you need to brush and floss regularly. All of which a skeezer doesn't do, but at least I told you.
You probably make enough to rent a small storage unit where you could keep your extra stuff, but I guess that's not as much fun as Leslie's company.