Onward And Upward

Whoever stole my bike 26 days ago, I imagine to have done it because he had already spent most of his monthly check on his drug addiction, having been extended credit against the money that was going come later that night, just a few hours after the bike came up missing. Half of the building's residents were huddled in front of the place, counting down the minutes and seconds before midnight would come, and with it, the mass movement towards the nearest ATM machine, where they would line up, a dozen deep and one by one, withdraw cash from the machine. Then, one by one they would walk to where the dope dealer sat in his car, pay back their debts which had started to accrue as soon as the last month's money ran out, while buying more crack or meth off the guy. They already would have bought their alcohol and cigarettes in the store; that way they could make a beeline back to where their pipes waited for them. Every second counts once the drugs are in their hands and doing them no good until they make it back to where their pipe is. Having to then go back in the store to get their other stuff would be too nerve racking; they would be ready to smoke that second.

The reason I had not pulled my bike into the apartment when I ran in for what amounted to maybe an hour was that I thought they would all be preoccupied with the coming windfall and not filled with a desperation for the 25 dollars that the bike might net them. They were all out there, checking the time every 4 minutes, I assumed. I hadn't factored in that any of them might already owe the dope man most of what they were going to be withdrawing from the ATM in less than 3 hours.

The other thing I imagine about whomever took it was that it was someone who had seen me going off on the bike a few nights a week, with my guitar on my back, and then returning a few hours later with, he assumed; money and cigarettes and perhaps alcohol; none of which I was offering to him as I pushed the bike past him on my way to an apartment that had furniture and a TV and other accoutrements, in stark contrast to his dwelling, where there may be one chair with his pipe under the cushion, and maybe a little table to hold his ashtray and perhaps a mattress in the other room.

It would be easy for someone like that to view the bike as being one of the differences between myself and him; something that afforded me the means to go into the Quarter and make money while, he "has to" steal whatever he gets. And, it serves me right for not giving him a couple dollars, a cigarette and one of my beers each time I return to the building. On that bike.

One of the security ladies up front, Donna, said "I saw what happened to your bike." She isn't allowed to inform me of exactly what she saw through the camera right outside my door, but hinted to me that someone had told her, on his way out the front door with it, that I had allowed him to borrow it. I still have a couple days left to call for a police officer to come and view the same video; that way, the cops would at least know who the culprit is, and that might give management the grounds to evict the person. I have hesitated this long because of the slimness of the chance of me getting the bike back; plus the fact that the New Orleans Police Department is critically undermanned right now; and it seemed almost cruel to request that one of the few officers on duty take even a half hour out of their schedule to investigate a stolen bike.

But, I think I will call in a little while. One of them showed up about a day after I called the first time (the 911 response times are only a little bit better) when I wasn't here, but she wrote up a report based upon what I had told Donna at the front desk; mainly that I hadn't lent the bike to anyone that night. That will give them a few days to come and watch the video and basically charge the person with a crime so that the eviction can proceed. I would be doing a service to my fellow residents. Plus, Donna seems to be chomping at the bit to prosecute whomever it is, saying that she has seen him leaving the building with other items that matched the description of things shortly thereafter reported missing.

I suppose that if part of the satisfaction of stealing the bike would be that it would take away my ability to go into the Quarter to make money, and then ride back here to flaunt it in front of him, by having a bag full of cat food and other items on my handlebars and a cigarette in my mouth, then he must feel like he has succeeded in that regard, over the past few weeks that I just haven't been going out to play.

If I were to just make the 2 mile walk to the Lilly Pad with all my gear on my back, I would most likely make enough, even with one of the worst nights ever, to be able to take the trolley home, and then back out the next night. I might only have to make the walk one time and then be riding from that point forward.

But, I suppose it might be something else my subconscious mind is steering me towards. I haven't drank, nor smoked weed, nor had much kratom over the past couple weeks, and even my tobacco consumption is down to a few cigarettes a day. I guess the next time I go out it will be because I feel like playing music; and not because I'm dying to drink and get stoned.

Instead, I have been watching the entire 5 years of the Game of Thrones series that once premiered on HBO, back in the 2011 through 2016 era. I've been watching for 12 hours at a time, and am up to Season 5 now. I hadn't known anything about it before stumbling upon it on a free streaming site that I've also stumbled upon (through the agency of my friend Jacob having sent me a link to a Paul McCartney interview series hosted on the same site).

I imagine that, when watching G.O.T., I am having a similar experience to any black people that watched Alex Hailey's "Roots" documentary in multiple parts, back in the late 70's or whenever that aired.

Gah! This image is a spoiler! I was just looking for an image to put here, and now I know that she is going to be sitting on the Iron Throne! I only had Season 5 left to watch; and now it's all ruined!!

It kind of sheds a little light on the culture that I grew up in; at least the aspect of maintaining the integrity of "the family name," and seeing the residue of some of the "codes" of honor having trickled down through the centuries and made it to New England.

It has kind of normalized the notion of me running a blade through the back of the head and out the mouth of whomever stole my bike.

I fell asleep watching a "greatest 50 novels of all time" type of video; succumbing somewhere around #29, and then woke up finding that Youtube had auto-played to one of the same guy talking about the works of Aristotle, Homer, Virgil and one other guy. I subscribed to his channel and then backtracked to discover the synchronicity of the fact that I am presently reading what he deems the greatest American novel of all time, namely; Moby Dick.

Having the bike stolen has been perhaps just enough of a hardship to have wrecked me, in the sense that I stopped going out to busk; but perhaps there is an, as yet unclear, value in my staying home to watch Game of Thrones and beginning to read Homer and Virgil.