The New Harmonica Arrives

My in-house phone rang at about noon.

No rain, yet, no tourists

I had about 6 hours of sleep to my credit, having lied down at about sunup, after having drawn back the curtains to afford the plants on the window sill the light from the rising sun. One of the "drawbacks" of apartment A110 is that direct sunlight only comes through the windows during the 7 months of summer, and only for a couple hours each morning.

But, I have found the way to silence the heating and air conditioning unit by shutting a valve. I think the purpose of the hose running through it is to draw off condensation from the air conditioner's condenser in the summer and to send hot water through in the winter. The latter would seem to better utilize the fire hose like pressure that it seems to be under, which causes the annoying hiss...

I didn't answer the phone, thinking that there was a good chance that it would be Rose calling to borrow more money. I had 11 dollars on my coffee table and couldn't begin to think about what I might need it for on this Monday when the weather forecast warned of the possibility of non-stop rain, due to hurricane Harvey which is in the area.

I would most likely remember something that I needed it for, as soon as Rose had gone off with it.

I needed a 3 dollar all-day bus pass, so that I could go to the food stamp office to request a hearing on my case, and then to go across the river to sell blood plasma, after having failed to do so on Sunday.

I went out and made 8 bucks Sunday night, twice as much as on Saturday night, when I noticed a lot of gay men with their non-tipping ways walking around holding hands.

I was very leery about playing last (Sunday) night, thinking that it would be more of the same and that I might be in line to make 2 dollars for my efforts. But I was in a good enough mood to not care about money. Howard had given me 20 dollars during my visit, after I had mentioned having put all my eggs in one basket, counting upon the 30 bucks of plasma money, and that I was returning to New Orleans with a dollar and change in my pocket and would have to go out and play for queers if I was hoping to eat that night.

But, I had a squeaky old harmonica and rusty strings; one of which having already snapped and then been "nigger rigged" back into playability. So, I had a limited offering musically; so they might only be getting 2 dollars worth of it; if there is to be any justice.

Rose borrowed my phone Sunday morning.
I had 357 minutes on it. "I hardly ever call anyone," I had told her, as I stood there, shaking off sleepiness.

She had woken me up at 9 AM, asking to borrow the thing "for a couple hours." If I had been fully awake, I might have asked her if she intended to use a couple hours worth of minutes off the thing. Sure, the 250 minutes per month that I get for free, because it is a government supplied "life-line" phone, do roll over and accumulate, but that doesn't mean that I want to just give them away. I might want to call my mom and talk for a couple hours myself some day.
Rose returned the phone to me, with about 60 minutes having been burned off the thing. She apologized, behind some excuse that sounded lame, and then told me "if you don't use the minutes, you lose them at end of the month, because they don't roll over."

"Yes, they do," I corrected her; kind of annoyed because she was obviously lying to me. She had contradicted herself, also, in telling me that her sister lived far away and so they never got to see each other and had to communicate by phone, and then said "Don't worry, it's a local call," after I asked, just out of curiosity, where, in fact she lived.
So, I didn't answer the call at noon, thinking that she might have wanted some more of the 297 minutes that are still left on my phone.
It pisses me off to encounter the attitude, prevalent in skeezers, that, if you get something for free, like the minutes on an "Obama phone," you should be totally liberal in doling it out.

It recalls to mind, Louise the tarot card reader, whom I let stay in my apartment as a "guest" for 10 days; standing in my parlor on the 10th day, yelling to me that she had just as much right to the apartment as I did, and telling me that she was going to cook a meal on my stove and then take a long hot shower, whether I liked it or not.
"I joined the army and could have been sent into battle and died, Louise, and you didn't..."
"I can't hear you over the shower, Daniel, you're wasting your breath..."
As I was leaving at around 4 PM, after having woken up for the final time, the security lady at the front desk informed me that I had received a package and that she had tried to call me at around noon.

I decided to leave it at the front desk, as I was on my way to the food stamp office to protest my benefits having been reduced from194 to 137 dollars "I mis-spoke when I said that I busked for 30 hours per week; I should have said "per month," and was planning upon then going across the river to sell my blood plasma.

I figured that the new harmonica and guitar strings would be safer there, than in my possession as I walked through the ghetto of Gretna.

Now, I am having slight misgivings. Now that the all-black security personnel are able to link my face to the parcel, it wouldn't surprise me if it doesn't disappear somehow. "I just left the desk to use the restroom for 10 minutes. It was here when I left. I know I didn't take it..."

I get a voucher to pay for my rent, and I get food stamps; I don't need a brand new 30 dollar harmonica too; especially when there are niggas here that are truly struggling, in a way that a white man could never understand, type of thing...

Music, And The Road Trip

So, assuming that I can have a couple good nights busking, using brand new strings and harmonica, and can stockpile a couple weeks worth of food for Harold the cat, I should be able to hop a freight train out of Oliver yard next week, and try to visit friends and family in New England.
My conversation with Wendell the flute player has provided me with the intelligence that, while I have been having perennial shitty Christmases in New Orleans, money-wise, he has been making an annual pilgrimage to San Jose, California to play his flute and has returned each year with "at least a thousand dollars" in his pocket.
I can see myself having similar luck in Boston, Massachusetts.

Has Every Right To My Shower!

Alex In California

The subject came around to a sometimes reader of this blog, Alex in California.

"Alex is just a good hearted person. I play in front of a Starbucks out there and he'll always go inside and get me a coffee or a snack; just a good hearted guy; he can't play that trumpet worth a darn, but he's just a nice person," said Wendell the flute player.
"Oh, he's terrible," he added.