Dying To Be Written

Bayfest

Bayfest officially kicked off at about 7:30 p.m. last night.

There I am, on my way to look for a spot to play.
I succeeded in finding one on Royal Street which was far enough away from any of the half dozen stages which were set up all over the downtown area, so that it was relatively quiet, especially compared to New Orleans.
Mobile felt like a peaceful little town, in fact, after NOLA. Even the beggars weren't as "in your face."
I racked up $13.86 in about an hour, playing mostly Beatles songs, then went to spend -excuse me, invest- $4.33 of it in a half pint of whiskey, which I then walked with and sipped upon down Royal Street towards one of the stages.

"Dances With Corrie" Not To Be

It was the stage by the parking lot where last year a man was sitting with a gallon of vodka, passing it around to his new "friends," which included, but were not limited to; myself, Corrie and Corrie's boyfriend, who soon left to find the Rock-n-Roll stage, leaving Corrie and I to dance in the parking lot to the sounds of Clay Walker. I would be lying if I said that I wasn't hoping to see Corrie again.
On this particular night, though, there was no man with vodka, no Corrie, and the Country band on the stage had just finished their set. There would be a wait before the next band played so I walked and sipped on; past the cops on every corner, and back to the spot on Royal Street, where I made a few more dollars.
Then, at 10:30 p.m., I started to head towards the "Pepsi" stage, where a band called Korn was slated to perform. I had always wanted to hear the band Korn, which spells it in mixed case characters, like KorN, or something (I think they reverse the "K" and possibly the "N," too).
I got about half way to the Pepsi stage, finished my whiskey and said to myself: "You know, you can always check out a CD from the library if you want to hear KorN so badly. How much money can you make on the sidewalk while KorN is playing? Well, that amount would be like what you would be paying to see KorN..."

"You know, you're right, self...I'm going to play some more"
And play, I did.
After the last of the bands finished around 11:30 p.m., and the streets flooded with freshly released, highly charged KorN fans and their ilk, I moved to the acoustically superior spot, (which I now just realise that I forgot to photograph; maybe tomorrow.)
I made a total of about 30 bucks for the night. This is not an impressive amount unless you factor in the fact that it took all of about 30 people to supply it. It was a one dollar tip type of night. I guess that is not just a New Orleans phenomenon, in this economy. 30 people appreciated my stuff, which bodes well for the near future anyways.
Someone came by and smoked some "mojo" with me, and after that, I remember playing "Dear Prudence," and changing the words, and I remember people approaching from every direction (like sharks) and throwing their dollars in my case. At one point, I spaced out and thought I was in New Orleans. Momentarily horrified, I snatched a handful of the ones out of my case and stuffed them in a pocket, before realising that I was in the relative safety of Mobile, at my acoustically superior spot, and that I had over reacted. Such was my level of concentration. The mojo contributed...
I slept at the railroad track spot, where I had stashed my sleeping bag, which was still there.
I chose that spot so that I wouldn't have to be "up and out" by 7 a.m., even though I had stashed my morning energy drink (a "Full Throttle") at the Christ Episcopal spot, a tactical error, but one that I had to live with.
Sleeping until 9 a.m. this morning, I then walked over to get my energy drink, and then went off to Save-A-Lot.
I want very much to cook some fish on a fire today, so I have already gotten some frozen Tilapia. It is thawing in my backpack right now. I will buy a tin foil type roasting pan for $1.50, or rig up a grate, using coat hangers as a frame and a 99 cent roll of tin foil. Either way, I'm determined to cook fish and to do it for under two bucks!
Tales of The Macabre

Another car strikes the same spot? Was it the same driver?

Last night, allegedly, another car struck the wall of the Church Street Graveyard in the same spot that had already been struck, and then patched using hundred year old bricks (to match the texture of the original wall. How well they matched it is left to you to determine by looking at the photo which I took this morning.)
You will remember, faithful reader, from yesterday's post that Richard was found dead upon the tomb where he slept in the same cemetery.


Is There A Novel Here?

 Was the wall actually struck by a car (I don't see any skid marks nor tire tracks) or is Richard's up to his old tricks?
This is just the kind of s**t that Richard would pull. It has "Richard" written all over it!
When his body was found, he had with him a 4-pack of Steel Reserve Lager, and was in the middle of drinking the second one, when he was snatched from this earth.
There are theories being bandied about, by those who knew him, that the restless spirit of Richard has come back to roam the earth in search of his last two cans of Steel Reserve...
Could he have, upon finding his beer gone off of his tomb, smashed the wall in a tantrum??
We don't know...

Bayfest: Nights 2 And 3

Country Night On Cafe Stage
Saturday, I woke up in room 122, with $20.43, and a free bus pass.

I wanted to go to the music store, but my blogging ran a little long, and I was flirting with the danger of being stranded out on Airport Blvd., like I was once before. The Saturday buses run sporadically. I decided to take my chances with 2 week old strings.

I got 2 Steel Reserves, and headed for the spot that the scraggly-haired guy had shown me, on the first night of the festival. I would be lying if I said that I wasn't hoping that Corrie would be there. I was a bit early, as night hadn't yet fallen.

I got there, to see that none of the same cast of characters were there. It was "Country" night, with Clay Walker and Reba McEntire as the last two acts. I could imagine that the scraggly-haired guy, who loved Motley Crue might hate country music.

I listened to someone with the last name of Kelly, who was alright, but was singing Country style songs, while her band seemed to want to turn them into alternative rock.

Next, her older sister took the stage, with the name of Irene Kelley. She was much more refined, and her band sounded like a country band.

The Scraggly-Haired Guy Shows Up

Then, the scraggly-haired guy walked up, along with a scraggly friend. His first order of business was to tell me that Corrie had told him to say "hi," to me, for her. He seemed adamant about me getting that message.

His second order of business was to pass me a large bottle, containing what looked like orange juice, but burned like fire when swallowed.

Soon thereafter, up rode Billy and Corrie on a bike which looked like a chopper. Someone had given Corrie the bike, and she was going to give it to her son, wherever he is, for his birthday.

The scraggly-haired guy wasted no time in telling Corrie that he had told me that she said "hi." and the other scraggly guy corroborated this by nodding his head, and saying "He told him." I had played a Pink Floyd song for them during the break between the two Kellys, and the scraggly-haired guy informed Billy and Corrie of this and swore "to God," that I really had played a Pink Floyd song, as if it is only one musician in a million that can do so.

"Dances With Corrie"

It soon became apparent that Billy hated Country music, after he said so more than once, as Irene Kelly played, and Corrie danced in the parking lot.
An argument between them ensued, though there was no violence. Billy scolded Corrie who attempted to flee to God knows where, on the chopper bicycle. He grabbed it by the seat, arresting her progress before she could get away. I was glad to see that he doesn't seem to hit her.

 A little while later, it was Billy who left on the bike, to seek out the "rock-n-roll" stage.

Clay Notices Corrie Dancing

Clay Walker began his set, as it grew dark. The big TVs were casting a glow on the parking lot, as Corrie danced.

She is a very fluid dancer and was doing things that you see professional dancers do, like going to the ground and hopping up and spinning and stretching her lithe arms out, in graceful motions that made it appear that she was either underwater, or on the moon.

I couldn't resist joining her, as Clay Walkers music was that good, and the scraggly-haired guy's special orange juice was, too.

We danced together. It was extremely fun. I thought I did pretty well, except for the few times that we collided together, and had to embrace to keep each other from falling. I pretty much felt like I was falling the whole time.

I took her by the hand and spun her around, and we copied each other's moves, which we were inventing on the fly and which had probably never been applied to Country music, since the human race discovered dancing.

I had bought sunglasses that morning and discovered that I could place my broken prescription glasses underneath them, and thus, hold them together. I was still wearing that contraption, even though  it was dark, and I was amazed by how pretty Corrie is, when seen through something close to 20-20 vision.
The shades also made it possible for me to take clandestine looks towards the balcony, which overlooked the parking lot, where the wealthy were eating and drinking in their fine clothes, as they listened to Clay Walker. 

Almost every man, though accompanied by an expensively dressed woman, was stealing glances at Corrie, as she danced, with wistful looks in their eyes. I think they were pondering selling all they owned, donating their money to the poor, and joining us in our dance. That's the way I read them.

Eventually Billy returned, probably after learning that rock-n-roll just wasn't the same without his Corrie. Corrie and I stopped dancing at that point, and I thought and she thought and the scragglies, as well as the rich folk in the balcony thought, how oddly conspicuous that was. 

Reba McEntire Entirely Awesome

A Well Oiled Machine

Then, Reba McEntire played a polished, sophisticated and professional set. Everyone in her entourage was a virtuoso, right down to the sound man. No wonder she wears that grin.

I heard that it took lots of BP oil money to fetch Reba to our humble festival. The next day, Thomas told me that he could bear Reba loud and clear at his spot, which is a good mile away.

Sunday morning, I woke up with $40.93.

After hearing Reba the previous night, I had gone to the spot near the beer store and played, and one young black guy gave me a 20 dollar tip, after I played 'My Girl," for HIS girl. There were several one dollar tips.
I slept until about 10 am. at the church spot, even though it was Sunday, and people were inside the church praying. I kind of had to sneak out. I accomplished this by grabbing my bucket, which I sit on when I play, and picking up whatever trash there was on the ground, as I walked.

I walked all the way to the dollar store, in hopes of buying some headphones. I stopped at CVS and bought a pair of socks for $1 along the way. I grabbed a beer further up the road. Headphones were 7 bucks at the dollar store. I decided not to get them before seeing how much I would make that night.

The Last Night Of Bayfest

I repeated the act of going to the spot which the scraggly-haired guy had shown me. I would be lying if I said that I wasn't hoping that Corrie would be there.
It was not to be.

There was a stiff breeze blowing, the temperature had plummeted into the 60's, and Lady Antebellum were on the stage, and I thought that they were just average, and wonder about all the awards they have won, and how much BP oil money they were able to pump out of Mobile...
Some of their music was beautiful, but just made me more heartsick that Corrie wasn't there. 

I went to play at the acoustically superior spot, since I had the luxury of having woken up with 40 bucks.
I attracted a bit of a crowd, who all threw me something, and didn't discover, until I opened my case at the beer store that I had gotten another 20 dollar tip, amongst the ones. I can't remember what I was playing, but I thought it was pretty good.

This (Monday) morning, I woke up with $56.43.
Next To Last Egg

I went and ate my egg, having woken up just in time to get to the Presbyterian church and get the next-to-the-last one. A near melee broke out over the last egg, and a black woman accused the nice volunteer of being a homosexual, after he had given the last egg to a man, instead of to her.
That about catches me up to date, after the 3 day Bayfest. The weekend further convinced me that I must travel around and seek out things like festivals, and not stay put in Mobile, waiting for events of note to take place.

The Bayfest

I got over to the Adventure Inn, by about 2:30 pm. I sat and played with a sign which Harold made, which said "Playing For Tips, Thanks"
Harold gave me a barbecue sandwich, a coke and a bag of chips. He also gave me a key to room 122, which was under repairs. I made about 7 bucks off of the people, who were on their way to the Bayfest, and conservative with their money, not knowing what other expenses they were going to incur at the festival.
Harold gave me another 10 bucks, and I went into town.
I stopped at the Dauphin Store to find that all of their prices had been increased. They had paper signs on the beer coolers which said "$3" Beer is usually $1.20, which is already more than anywhere else in town.

The guy, who knows me pretty well from our frequent conversations, sold me a 211 for $1.49.
I walked from there to the Exxon, seeking cheaper beer, and scoping out the arrangement of stages, and keeping an eye out for a good spot to set up and play for tips.
The Exxon had not raised their prices ("We don't play those games," was what the cashier said)
I enhanced my experience of The Bayfest with 2 more 211's, and then headed for town, to try playing for the throngs of people.
Scraggly-Haired Fan
I ran into a scraggly-haired man, who was apparently inebriated, and who was headed to a spot, which he has been at during Bayfest the past 3 years. He invited me to drink beer and liquor and listen to Motley Crue, a famous band from the 80's, which he said was the only band that "matters." He may wear his hair in tribute to them.
We went to his spot, which was a wall on the border of a parking lot, from where we could see the large-screen TV image of the band which was on stage, called Saving Abel. I was pretty impressed with Saving Abel. They are in the "alternative rock' genre, and so I had never really heard them, because I don't like the other alternative rock bands that they are mixed in with, because they play too many "power chords" with the 5th in the bass, probably because they think that they are even more powerful that way, and their vocalists all seem to be trying to imitate the style which is "selling."

Creed is supposedly a "Christian Rock" band, but that might be obvious from looking at them.

Jewel used to be homeless, but that may be obvious from looking at her.

This style is throaty and nasal, started with bands like Bush and Creed, and spread to more than 55 other bands. They pronounce the word "you,' as "Yow,' and it irks me. The female vocalists of most of the bands which are played on the alternative rock stations, also try to imitate the style which is selling. That one kind of started with Jewel, and spread to at least 55 other singers, like a virus. They pronounce the word "you" as "yow" also, but that is about the only place where the two styles overlap. It irks me even more to hear the females pronounce you as yow.
The scraggly-haired guy was complaining that his "friends" had all of his beer and his liquor in their backpacks, and had disappeared on him, when he had gone to get another lighter after losing his. How could someone just lose their lighter? Two words: beer and liquor.
We sat through Saving Abel, and watched as kids roller bladed around the parking lot, while we drank beer and liquor.
Corrie-fest 

At one point, a couple of his "friends" returned, and turned out to be none other than Corrie, and her "boyfriend," who is twice her age. I'm not an envious person, but I make an exception for him. Corrie gave me a long (25 seconds of feeling like I was One with the universe) hug, and said that she had been worried about me.
She and her boyfriend had passes for Bayfest around their necks, which someone had given them. She was all smiles and proud of her pass. She knew that it was worth 45 dollars, and made the comment that, between her 45 pass, and her boyfriends, they had passes worth... she paused, unable to do the math. "90 bucks," said her boyfriend, who is quicker with figures, apparently. Corrie has quite a figure, incidentally.
They swore to the scraggly-haired guy that they were not the ones who absconded with his beer and his liquor. I vouched for them, as being honest, as far as I could tell. The scraggly-haired man exonerated them, and washed them clean of all guilt with liquor and beer.
Someone had also given them 10 bucks, and Corrie wanted a glow stick more than any 'ol thing in the world. She left momentarily, and returned with the pass hanging around her neck, along with a glow-necklace. I have never seen anyone more giddy in my life. 'Tis a gift to be simple. She told me not to give up and that I would be on the stage next year, instead of Saving Abel and Motley Crue, because "You play from your soul." She may be a prophetess.

That hairstylist can't hide from us forever!

Motley Crue was HORRIBLE with more than just a capital "H". They sounded like they hadn't picked up their guitars since the 80's, when they became famous.
And now, I must run to get strings. I played on the street, after fleeing the sound of Motley Crue, and made another 5 or 6 bucks. Alcohol may have been a contributing factor to such a poor outcome.

No Crying Roast-Meat

Thursday night, I ran into Terry, an elderly black guy, who reaffirms my belief that the color of one's skin is of no import, pertainent to the nobility of one's character; him being a very cool black guy.

We sat and I drank my first Earthquake of the day, which whittled my cash down to $2.87.

We were joined by a guy who's name I forget, but whom I see a lot at the library, and I am actually a "friend" of his on Facebook. We smoked and drank.

Soon, it was time to go into town, as it was nearing the time of the Great Feeding at 15 Place. I wanted to play for about an hour, before partaking of that Grand Feast. I could remember the previous week, when I had only 32 cents, and ate at 15 Place, then went out and played.

I had my second beer, waiting for The Great Dining Hall to open. I had 3 helpings of shepherd's pie. It was just about perfect, a Miracle On Joachim Street.

A Lady Gives Me 25 Dollars

I sat on my spot, the acoustically superior one, and played. My new "g" string rang out, and a new low "e" string did the same.

I can't remember what music I was doing, but, a lady came by and asked me if I wanted a snack. She was holding a bag, which she deposited next to me. It contained a muffin, a rice treat kind of thing, and three apples. She dropped 20 dollars in my case, next to the 3 which were already in there.

"Thank, you! Do you need change?," I asked, offering her the 3 bucks.

She said that she didn't want any change, and that, in fact, she was going to give ME more change. She dropped 5 more bucks in. She said "I love music."

The apples made me wonder if she reads this blog...

I had 28 bucks, and should have been set up for a productive night, but, people came along and gave me beer and invited me to go eat.

Along came Terry, the cool older black guy (because of whom, I can't judge anybody by the color of their skin) and asked me for beer money. I gladly gave him 2 dollars, and he went to the beer store, and came back with change.

Then came the guy, who's name I forget, and sat down and listened for a while. He had worked that day, and had 100 dollars. He offered to get beer, and did so; producing a 6 pack of Budweiser. He wanted to get food, also, but I advised against the out of control spending which getting food on Dauphin Street would entail.

I played more, and got two 5's, and a few more ones -not bad for a spot with light traffic, but excellent acoustics. I was eventually feeling pretty drunk, and only vaguely remember the rest of the night, except the following.

I ran into Israel, who was bragging about the 8 dollars that he made at a busy (hectic) spot up the street. "That's a good spot," he said.

When asked how I had done, I didn't want to tell him that I had made about 37 dollars to his 8. I was thinking of something that I had read in Tom Jones, by Henry Fielding (which, by the way, is turning into one of the most excellent books which I have ever read) The quote has to do with not "foolishly bragging" about good fortune, when all it would do is "call forth partakers of what you intend to enjoy privately." He (Fielding) called it "Crying roast-meat." and I think it comes from olde English lore, (and the Lidgeleys may be able to verify this.)

I told Israel that I had done "alright, thanks to one generous lady." He probably thought that I was thrown 10 bucks. I don't think that he will try to play my spot, but, there is still a price to pay for bragging, and he might have spread the word, in the form of "I wish I made 37 bucks, like Daniel did," whereupon, I would be plagued by supplicants for money and cigarettes the whole night long.
Knowing that I had money, they would paint me as a greedy individual, were I to turn them away.

The mentality which produces notions like: One should take whatever he has and "share" it with everyone, because we are "all in this together,' and are all "out here, struggling," and we "all need to look out for one another, is prevalent amongst them, and well documented in this blog.

I don't subscribe to it, because I produce income. I believe that those fellows who trumpet the above philosophical point of view, if audited, would be found to have their balance sheets skewed drastically, in the direction of "money bummed," completely overshadowing "money given to others."

At one point, I took a break and walked with the guy who's name I forget, up to the store. I got an energy drink for the (this) morning.

Violence Breaks Out Over 10 Bucks

The guy who's name I forget was in a dispute with a young black kid, over 10 dollars, and at one point, got hold of the young black kids cellphone, as a securty against the 10 dollars. I was entrusted to hold the phone, being kind of a referee of sorts.

The young black kid was unable to produce the 10 dollars, and still wanted his phone back. Being fair and impartial, I told him that the phone was being held until the guy who's name I forget, got his 10 bucks. The young black kid wanted the phone back first, claiming that the 10 bucks would then be turned over. I told him that it would not work that way, as, the phone had little value to us, and more to him etc.

He swung his fist, hitting me somewhere in the cheek, I think. I felt hardly anything. I stood there, looking at him. The kid actually went and got a cop, of sorts (a Community watchdog type of guy who walks around in a yellow shirt and gives people directions and watches out for crime, or something) who told us to just give the kid the phone back, and swallow the 10 bucks and consider it a lesson learned (not to ever trust him again.) He went on to say that sometimes these young black kids will shoot people over 10 dollar cell phones.

Somehow, I woke up with about 24 bucks and the energy drink.

I remember going to the Exxon, very late, and spending about 5 bucks on cigarettes and one last Steel Reserve, and getting back to town, to find it pretty deserted. I remember trying to fool myself into thinking that I wasn't going to the Exxon, mainly hoping to run into Corrie.

This morning, I bought nail clippers, and hair conditioner. The lady at CVS gave me some elastics for my pony tail, as the "professional" ones only came in 12 packs, at $3.99 per pack...

Tonight being Saturday night, and the thunderstorm having already passed through, it might be a pretty good night. I will go to New Orleans, if I have more than 20 bucks by Monday, what the heck....

Now, I ponder getting a cell phone of my own, so that I will have a phone, an alarm clock, and a stopwatch all in one....

Things Turn Around

Tuesday, after leaving The Waterfront Rescue Mission, I walked through a light rain, to the store, and bought an energy drink on my food card, above the warnings of the lady behind the glass that it would make my heart explode.

A Man Gives Me A Dollar


I was headed towards the library, with the energy drink and the $1.06, which had been spared from being spent on a Steel Reserve, in favor of said energy drink.


I heard a voice cry out, from across the grassy field, and saw two figures sitting behind the dumpster, on the other side of it.


I diddn't recognize them, due to the absence of my glasses from my face, and was almost ready to continue on, sure that they were going to have me walk all the way over there so they could try to bum a cigarette. I had no cigarettes; just an energy drink and $1.06.


It turned out to be a guy whom I had met before and who had turned out to be a decent guy. He was with a decent looking (in a homeless way) lady.


I had played guitar for him at our first meeting. He introduced me to the lady, gave me a few cigarettes and a dollar, and then they went off to some appointment.


More Good Fortune


I left the library, after the last post, and took my $2.06 to the store and got two cans of 211, and drank them, while listening to AM talk radio.

I then went to the median, and played for a while, starting off with 32 cents; the change from the beer purchase.


A guy gave me 5 bucks after rolling his window down and recognizing the music of Jim Croce.


Night was falling, as I walked to the Exxon, after dropping some heavier things at the railroad spot.

A Man Buys Me A Sub

I went into the Exxon and got a 211, and drank it behind the store. I was returning for one more, when a man, who was entering, held the door for me and asked me if I was "alright," and then, if I wanted a sub from Subway. He bought me "anything you want," which was a vegetable sub with all the hot stuff on it.


Corrie, And Her Cream Filled Doughnut


Emerging from the store, with sub in hand, I ran into the guy who had been with Corrie, the time when I met her, and she said that she had heard that I was very good on the guitar, and had begged me to play for her.


We exchanged pleasantries, and then he said "Here comes your buddy," or words to that effect. I looked to see none other than Corrie, riding up on her bike. She looked to be her same animated self. She was wearing a tank top and looked pretty. (simulation->)


I found out from her that she was there hoping for a rendezvous with the man who delivers the doughnuts to the Exxon. He apparently knows her (them) and gives away the doughnuts which are to be thrown away otherwise. Corrie was hoping to eat a cream filled one, and, according to her, there hadn't been any for a couple of nights. "Cream filled must sell out fast," I said.

She told me that, yes, they do.

I could see in her expression, both hope of getting a cream filled doughnut, and a willing acceptance of the fact that they are often sold out. There was a cautious optimism in her blue eyes.


Her eyes are a very bright blue, and one of them drifts slightly, giving her a dazzled expression, which is in keeping with a girl whose biggest concern might be to make it to the Exxon in time for the arrival of the doughnut man.

The man arrived, and parked his Krispy Kreme truck, by the gas pumps. Corrie and company descended upon it. The man stepped out and greeted them with a smile, walked to the back of the truck, opened the door, and sent them on their way, cradling boxes of doughnuts.

The goods were checked, and a creme filled doughnut was indeed discovered in one box by "Will," who handed it to Corrie, who bit into it then said: "That's what I'm talking about!"


I saw the doughnut man, watching all this from inside the store, where he was loading the case with "fresh ones." He kept glancing at Corrie, as she devoured the creme filled doughnut, with an amused smile on his face.

I would hazard a guess that this is his favorite part of the job of Krispy Kreme deliveryman.

"He's really nice; he knows us," said Corrie, licking the last of the cream off her tanned fingers.

I'm sure you saw to it that he did, I was thinking, but didn't say it.

A Kid Gives Me 3 Bucks
I left, after declining an invitation from Corrie to hang out with them. I don't need to become any more attracted to her. The similarities between her and another person who has occupied a lot of space in this journal in the past, is almost eerie. A creme filled doughnut, though, is cheaper than a fifth of liquor, and probably makes a girl sweeter to kiss...

I walked to Serda's, after reclaiming the heavier stuff from the railroad spot.

I had $3.36 left, and half a vegetable sub.
There was a group of young people at the tables in front of the place.

A youth, who I didn't quite recognize, came over and handed me 3 bucks.
Maybe he is one of the followers of my blog, who read about me waking up with 6 cents. Maybe he is one of the listeners at the Songwriter's Open Mic, I don't know.
Now, I had $6.36. Enough for HOW MANY cream filled doughnuts?....hmmm....

5 Bucks And Change

Leaving Serda's, I was in the mood to try to play my modified guitar. I had been struck with an inspiration.

At the acoustically superior spot, I re tuned it to an "open A" tuning. This stretched the strings which were in the wrong spots, bringing them closer to the pitches that they would be in, if they were in the right spots.

It sounded great, and, even though I planned to just amuse myself, as it was getting pretty late, a guy came from out of nowhere and threw 5 bucks in my case.

Another threw some change. I love the open A tuning. I sounded like Chet Atkins on steroids.
I lied down on the sleeping bag on the marble with $11.61, after having woken up that morning with 6 cents and a mis-strung guitar.
I decided to stop hating everybody and everything for a little while, just as an experiment.
A Guy Gives Me 2 Bucks

I woke up just as the sun was rising. I knew that it was about 6:45, as I pay attention to the sun, now that my alarm clock has been stolen from right by my head.

I headed for The Coffee Club.
In front of one of the hotels, a well dressed black man struck up a conversation with me, after seeing me pick up a butt from the sidewalk.

He wound up giving me 2 bucks and a cigarette, and telling me that I should go speak to a lady at the Seaman's Lounge, about playing guitar in there for money. He said that she was "looking for someone," until she gets a band "in there."
He added that Jesus loves me, and that "Everything I've told you is good."

Coffee Club, Rainbow Kids, New Orleans Update

I Ate at the Coffee Club, then played their piano a bit. A lady came over and asked me what I was playing. I told her that I was "making it up," as I was. She said that it was beautiful. I said that I was going to call it "Corrie."

I spent $2.19 on cigarettes (special deal) and came here to the library, where I met some Rainbow Kids. We talked for a while about cosmic things, and then they mentioned that they were fresh from New Orleans.

One of them said that it was crazily dangerous there, and people would jump you and beat you and rob you just because you are white. There is a lot of "white hating," there, he summed it up. "They will come to the spot where you sleep and beat you and rob you, just because they have nothing better to do.

Another one said that I would be alright if I got in with other musicians and I was careful. He said that one needs to go around in a group, not alone, in New Orleans.

Another 2 Dollars

While sitting there, talking to the Rainbow kids, a guy with a shaven head came and sat on the bench next to us. He was probably overhearing our conversation. At one point, he handed us 8 dollars, and said that The Lord spoke to him and told him to give us each 2 dollars. This gave me $13.42, and a full pack of cigarettes. I would mess it up by the end of the day, as one can read in tommorow's post (I'm adding this "tommorow")