How Leslie Works

I am sitting in Starbucks on a Sunday afternoon.
I am craving a cigarette.
The weekend was chaotic.

"Am I contributing to the chaos of the weekend, Daniel??"

click here >>>Here Is A Song/Medley: "Dreaming Of Tanya on Venus"
Leslie does not work on the weekends. What he does, I discovered is talk incessantly; this after getting some alcohol and/or weed into himself; the thing which is job 1.
To his credit, he has been making it to his job on time every morning -waking up without the aid of an alarm clock at 6:30 AM, this, after having passed out merely 4 or 5 hours prior in quite a stupor.
Then, it is incumbent upon myself to shake myself out of my own stupor under the same conditions and drink an energy drink or a coffee as soon as the door slams behind him as he sets out upon his 16 minute walk to the job site.
And then set up the Snowball microphone on the literal coffee table; break out my notebook/scratchpad and the issues of Sheet Music magazine which I have been transporting at the clip of 10 at a time; from the sign spot to Leslie's house.
I don't want to laden my backpack any further and risk cracking the screen on this laptop, as has happened the the last 2 of them...

"I'm on 5 hours of sleep; read my palm; that V shape above my thumb

is when I will kill someone who won't shut up!"

I have been making strides in recording with the Snowball microphone, and have immersed myself in the projects such that I have lost track of time and missed meeting Leslie at the Shell station after he gets off work.
The Shell station is a 15 minute walk from the house, as it is right by the University of New Orleans, which is where Leslie works, for the Popeyes Chicken franchise which is located on the campus.
The Shell being where the closest can of cold beer is to Leslie's job site, he makes a bee line there, and if his manner of greeting me when I have rendezvoused with him there is any indication, he appreciates the opportunity to drink with someone else. 

I hear everything, Daniel...

But, it doesn't have to be myself; sometimes someone else will show up whisk him away.
So far, when one of us has had money the other has not.
While he was waiting for his paycheck, I basically bought all the beer.
I was able to purchase two 24 ounce cans of Hurricane Lager, and administer them to him; and these would effectively put him in a state of mind where his prime concern would become "I just want to go and lay down in a warm house..."
This only cost me about 4 dollars per day. I was able to stretch the 136 dollars which I made on a Saturday 2 weeks ago for quite a while, even after spending the first 55 dollars of it on the Snowball microphone...
Saturday
Leslie has weekends off.
Friday night, I had played at the Lilly spot from about 10 PM until 12:08 AM.
The latter time is etched into my memory because the last bus back to Leslies house departed 23 minutes prior to the time when I first had the impulse to check the time.
I wound up playing longer; but afterwards spending much of the 23 dollars which I had made while waiting all morning for the first bus to run.
I got back to Leslies and 7 in the morning.
Before I had slept 5 hours, he was awake and had found the half bottle of whiskey which I had found on the sidewalk while walking around the Quarter; and had placed atop the refrigerator.
I could tell from the tone of his conversation (which technically wasn't a conversation because I was trying to sleep for another 3 hours) and the fact that it kept coming back to the bottle of whiskey atop the refrigerator "...I see you brought home almost a half bottle of whiskey...hmmm..." and then shortly thereafter "...Kentucky Dale; I've had that before, it's not bad..."
I was quick to tell him to help himself to the whiskey.
It then became impossible for me to go back to sleep, as he drank whiskey and talked and eventually shouted, as if he was in a bar with loud music playing.
And he would shout rhetorical questions "How could somebody do that!?!" but questions nonetheless; and, even after I tried to mumble my answers "...I don't know, Leslie..." in the most sleepy tones which I could muster, he wouldn't stop talking.
For 7 hours he gabbed, recycling a lot of material from past rants.
I eventually determined that I was going to have to go into the Quarter on 5 hours of sleep and play with worn out strings on my guitar.
I then felt sorry for Leslie after he stated his intention to walk the 3.5 miles into the Quarter, not asking me if he could borrow the $1.25 which it would take.
He phoned a couple people trying to get a ride.
I gave him the money for a bus ride, after pushing the emotions out of my head from feeling that I had been manipulated
I should have gone into the back room to sleep. I don't know if this would have helped or if he would have pursued me there and talked my ear off.
Sunday
Now it is Sunday, and I slept under the dock last night.
I went there when Leslie went to the bus stop, where the first bus home in the morning would stop, with the intention of sleeping on the bench while he waited.
There was evidence of someone else having been at my spot under there. Things moved around or missing, and an empty suitcase with a handle and busted wheels discarded.
It was pretty chilly, but the quilt was up to the task, though it needs to be washed.
I stand to benefit by making the arrangement with Leslie work out.
I could have about 40 hours per week of studio time in a place which is relatively quiet. I would just have to disappear on the weekends, maybe just crash under the dock on Friday and Saturday nights.
Then, there has been the interruption in my quest to get housing of my own.
It would be possible to take a 30 minute bus ride to get to the Rebuild Center to check my mail and continue my pursuit of getting a medicaid card and a house; can't forget the house, either.

So, where it stands now, I will try to get as much quality recording and practicing in; and might consider a 5 or 6 week jaunt to a place such as Arizona for the winter.
Busking generally pays better outside of New Orleans, especially if you are "from New Orleans," and I think I could pass the coldest month comfortably and then get back here in time for Mardi Gras.