Right now I am at Starbucks.
I have a gallon of spring water and 55 cents on me....oh, and a fake 10 dollar bill.
The water is indicative of another attempt at sobriety.
Last night, things had spiraled downward to the "Popeye point" when I decided "That's all I can stands, I can't stands no more!"
It is Friday and the thought of going out and playing is a slightly daunting and depressing one, as I had been using alcohol as a means of masking the fears and apprehensions pursuant to sitting on a spot, uninvited, and playing music for people who might not tip.
My latest idea for a sign is one which will read: "Stay calm and tip me."
Mind If I Sit Here?
Wednesday night, I made money at the Lilly spot, despite playing without the benefit of my spotlight, which forced me to move down the sidewalk, closer to the forbidden zones of Lillys soon-to-be-ex husbands bedroom; and the condo of the lawyer with whom Lilly feuds with over my being allowed to play at all in that residential neighborhood, after the 8 p.m. curfew.
I was beleaguered by 3 people who wanted to sit next to me and listen.
The first guy requested Alice In Chains and Stone Temple Pilots songs; lamented that he didn't have anything to tip me, but had cigarettes (yes, I am smoking again) and a drink for me.
The second guy came along and just wanted "to hear some good music."
He was a heroin addict who also enjoyed crystal methamphetamine and told me his name is "Loki," adding "I never give people my real name, because that is something that you should keep sacred and only let people that are close to you know."
By the time a third guy had showed up, an elderly guy walking with a cane, I had made close to 20 dollars for the night (I had started on Canal Street near Royal, then moved to Royal and Orleans, or the Late Jake spot, and had made a few dollars at each, before winding up at Lillys) and decided that my prospects for making more had been dimmed by the presence of my present audience.
They were skeezer-esque in nature.
I walked off to look for a 5 dollar bag of weed.
The Hero And The Heroin
Loki offered to pitch in on weed and wanted to come with me. We walked off together. He had a wad of money on him.
Along the way down Bourbon Street, he told me that he had been on the street since the age of 13 and enjoyed heroin, mostly because he was able to not do it "all the time," and thus, hadn't built up a tolerance to it, and thus could stay high all day on just one dose. "Like tonight, I'm just going to smoke a little weed and mellow out," he added.
When we got to The Unique Grocery, there was a tall black man in a striped shirt, who said that he had good weed.
He also had heroin.
Off walked he and Loki to around the corner somewhere to conduct business.
Weed is passed off right in front of the cops noses, usually transferred through a handshake. The fact that possession of it is a felony in Louisiana leads to the irony that they, hence, rarely enforce the law. Heroin is a different story.
Loki soon returned to where I stood drinking a beer with the news that he hadn't had his needle and spoon and had had to snort it, but that it was good; and the guy in the striped shirt had done him right, God bless him. He was Lokis hero.
The heroin was so good that Loki wanted a hug.
I hugged Loki, and then went off to my sleeping spot, deciding to forgo the weed and save 5 dollars of the money, which is a blessing on a Wednesday night; and thinking that the pot might be contributing to the general lack of direction in life which has beset me lately. ("Lately" being defined as the past 15 years or so).
As Long As It Is "Away!"
Coming out on Thursday, I noticed swarms of parents with young girls in tow flowing in the direction of the Super Dome.
A band called "One Direction," were performing in that venue and the word on the street was that they had sold the show out; drawing 80,000 young girls and their parents.
This didn't bode well for there being a big crowd on Bourbon Street that night, as I felt that the parents would opt for McDonalds or the ice cream places after the concert; rather than trot the little ones past the strip clubs and the skeezers.
A Bad Light
My new cheap spotlight had sucked the energy out of the last of my AA batteries, making me think that it might have a short circuit inside of it. The thing has to be wiggled around and smacked against my palm in order to bring it to what seems its brightest level, but then it will dim on its own accord; as if not all 3 batteries are always engaged.
I played at the Lilly spot, after having spent myself down to 0 dollars while standing outside The Royal Sonesta Hotel on Bourbon Street sipping beer and watching Thursday Night Football.
I Am Faked Out
I arrived at the Lilly Spot around 10 p.m. and made about 7 dollars, ran for a beer and back, and had 5 dollars in my case when, up walked a young man whom I didn't take particular note of who said "I want to tip you, man, but all I have is a 10; can I have those 5 ones and I'll give it to you?"
I made the exchange and then played a little longer, and then knocked off, thinking that 10 dollars was not a bad take, considering that I had watched football for half of the night.
I got to The Unique Grocery and pulled the 10 dollar bill out to pay for a beer and noticed that it looked funny.
The cashier noticed that it looked funny.
"This is fake," he said after inspecting it under the light.
It wasn't funny..
I have a gallon of spring water and 55 cents on me....oh, and a fake 10 dollar bill.
The water is indicative of another attempt at sobriety.
It is Friday and the thought of going out and playing is a slightly daunting and depressing one, as I had been using alcohol as a means of masking the fears and apprehensions pursuant to sitting on a spot, uninvited, and playing music for people who might not tip.
My latest idea for a sign is one which will read: "Stay calm and tip me."
Mind If I Sit Here?
Wednesday night, I made money at the Lilly spot, despite playing without the benefit of my spotlight, which forced me to move down the sidewalk, closer to the forbidden zones of Lillys soon-to-be-ex husbands bedroom; and the condo of the lawyer with whom Lilly feuds with over my being allowed to play at all in that residential neighborhood, after the 8 p.m. curfew.
I was beleaguered by 3 people who wanted to sit next to me and listen.
The first guy requested Alice In Chains and Stone Temple Pilots songs; lamented that he didn't have anything to tip me, but had cigarettes (yes, I am smoking again) and a drink for me.
The second guy came along and just wanted "to hear some good music."
He was a heroin addict who also enjoyed crystal methamphetamine and told me his name is "Loki," adding "I never give people my real name, because that is something that you should keep sacred and only let people that are close to you know."
By the time a third guy had showed up, an elderly guy walking with a cane, I had made close to 20 dollars for the night (I had started on Canal Street near Royal, then moved to Royal and Orleans, or the Late Jake spot, and had made a few dollars at each, before winding up at Lillys) and decided that my prospects for making more had been dimmed by the presence of my present audience.
They were skeezer-esque in nature.
I walked off to look for a 5 dollar bag of weed.
The Hero And The Heroin
Loki offered to pitch in on weed and wanted to come with me. We walked off together. He had a wad of money on him.
Along the way down Bourbon Street, he told me that he had been on the street since the age of 13 and enjoyed heroin, mostly because he was able to not do it "all the time," and thus, hadn't built up a tolerance to it, and thus could stay high all day on just one dose. "Like tonight, I'm just going to smoke a little weed and mellow out," he added.
When we got to The Unique Grocery, there was a tall black man in a striped shirt, who said that he had good weed.
He also had heroin.
Off walked he and Loki to around the corner somewhere to conduct business.
Weed is passed off right in front of the cops noses, usually transferred through a handshake. The fact that possession of it is a felony in Louisiana leads to the irony that they, hence, rarely enforce the law. Heroin is a different story.
Loki soon returned to where I stood drinking a beer with the news that he hadn't had his needle and spoon and had had to snort it, but that it was good; and the guy in the striped shirt had done him right, God bless him. He was Lokis hero.
The heroin was so good that Loki wanted a hug.
I hugged Loki, and then went off to my sleeping spot, deciding to forgo the weed and save 5 dollars of the money, which is a blessing on a Wednesday night; and thinking that the pot might be contributing to the general lack of direction in life which has beset me lately. ("Lately" being defined as the past 15 years or so).
As Long As It Is "Away!"
A band called "One Direction," were performing in that venue and the word on the street was that they had sold the show out; drawing 80,000 young girls and their parents.
This didn't bode well for there being a big crowd on Bourbon Street that night, as I felt that the parents would opt for McDonalds or the ice cream places after the concert; rather than trot the little ones past the strip clubs and the skeezers.
A Bad Light
My new cheap spotlight had sucked the energy out of the last of my AA batteries, making me think that it might have a short circuit inside of it. The thing has to be wiggled around and smacked against my palm in order to bring it to what seems its brightest level, but then it will dim on its own accord; as if not all 3 batteries are always engaged.
I played at the Lilly spot, after having spent myself down to 0 dollars while standing outside The Royal Sonesta Hotel on Bourbon Street sipping beer and watching Thursday Night Football.
I Am Faked Out
I arrived at the Lilly Spot around 10 p.m. and made about 7 dollars, ran for a beer and back, and had 5 dollars in my case when, up walked a young man whom I didn't take particular note of who said "I want to tip you, man, but all I have is a 10; can I have those 5 ones and I'll give it to you?"
I made the exchange and then played a little longer, and then knocked off, thinking that 10 dollars was not a bad take, considering that I had watched football for half of the night.
I got to The Unique Grocery and pulled the 10 dollar bill out to pay for a beer and noticed that it looked funny.
The cashier noticed that it looked funny.
"This is fake," he said after inspecting it under the light.
It wasn't funny..
The other reason to not give your real name is you're wanted by the cops...
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