The Simple Life

• Staying Warm
• The Lilly Offer

The Goal of Life has been simple lately:
Stay warm.
The Starbucks gift card which the Lidgleys sent in a Christmas parcel has been instrumental in allowing me to hang out there until they close at 9 p.m. sipping 50 cent refills and loading some with enough cream and sugar to make meals out of them.
This allows me to read and write and stay warm; all of which are catalyzed by caffeine; and to leave there with only a short wait until the various out of date food is put out.
Busking is not an advisable option after the temperature goes below 40 degrees.  
Last night, I found some excellent uncooked steak along with a variety of garden salads (with turkey or some other meat and sometimes hard-boiled eggs added) at about 9:30 p.m.
Sometimes I wonder if some of my friends who work in there wait upon the sight of me at one point in the night before pushing the trash cans outside.
They have come out within 10 minutes of my appearance, the past couple cold nights.
I headed for the dock, as it was about 35 degrees outside.
There was nobody in sight as I sneaked underneath it.
Out Of Rats Reach
The Natchez has not been docked for the past couple of days; perhaps it is under repair at some yard...

Lilly

I made slits in the bottom of a tin-foil basting pan with my knife, and soon had the steaks (and some ham shanks which were mostly fat) sizzling over a driftwood fire; dripping their juices into it.
I'm trying to cut back on sushi because of its tendency to contain soy; but hadn't been able to resist grabbing one container, which I shelved up onto the cold steel girders, out of rats reach.
Keeping My Phone Charged
Lilly had tried to call me about a week ago on one of the nights which was forecast to go below freezing.
She was going to invite me to stay somewhere at her place; and I only had to bring my own food.
I don't have any pictures of Lilly and her two daughters, Chantilly and Angelique, but I have looked at a lot of stock photos online and have come up with some approximations which I will post here, and which I might use as icons until such a time that they overcome their shyness about being photographed.

Chantilly

Angelique

The Danger Of Forgetting
My mission now; on this Wednesday night which is forecast to go below freezing is to go shortly to Starbucks, where I will charge the "Lilly" phone and try to read and write; working on song lyrics and organization of things; such as the compilation of my "master list" of songs in hopes of printing out the 5? page document sooon, so that I can routinely pore through it and reacquaint  myself with songs that I am in danger of forgetting otherwise.
Then, I will don an extra shirt and sweater and sweatshirt and go out into the night and probably pretty much repeat last night; except I might try to make a pretense at busking by sitting on my spot with the guitar out and hoping someone will come by and say: "It's too cold to be out here; get yourself a room!" and hand me a large bill...

Immobile In Mobile

I am in Mobile,
planning upon staying for at least a week to work on this blog and other writings, taking advantage of the fact that the computers here have no waiting list attendant to them, and one can stay on "all day," more or less.
I took the train here last night, accompanied by Harold, a 60 something guy who was staying at the Occupy New Orleans sight; a sight which has been posted with "no trespassing after 10:30 p.m." signs recently.
It was a pretty easy hop, though we had to walk about 2 miles from the Family Dollar, where we got off the bus, to the actual train. This was a strategic error as, I could have gotten the food and snacks at a different Family Dollar, and then we could have gotten off the bus close to the train. I didn't realise my folly until trying to walk the two miles to the train with Harold falling further and further behind, and wanting to stop to rest. I'm glad that it turned out to be an easy hop because Harold had never jumped a freight train before, and I could envision him whining and complaining should we have had to have sat for hours, waiting for the right train...
I had assured him that Mobile would be "no worse" than New Orleans for him. He doesn't panhandle nor want to stay drunk all day so, there was no wisdom in his staying there, especially after the Occupation was dispersed.
Not much more to report; the train ride wouldn't make an interesting story. It went fast. It was a "hotshot," loaded with Christmas merchandise bound for somewhere -high priority, every other train just got out of the way for us, with our load of Barbie Dolls and Play Stations. Three and a half hours from NOLA to Mobile. It has taken twice that long before.
From here, I must go back to NOLA on December 20th for mine and Sue's courtdate, and to possibly pick up a Christmas parcel from The Lidgleys, my friends in London.
From there, the world will be my oyster and, shucks, I just don't know where I will go.
I would probably stand a better chance of making enough money in California to go all the way from California to Massachusetts to visit my friends and family, than I would trying to make the money in New Orleans to make that shorter trip...

Or, "How To Cook A Chicken"

I Cook A Chicken
Yesterday morning, I ran into a guy who told me that he was cooking some chicken somewhere. He brought me to the spot, which was a slab of concrete which used to be the foundation of a building, but which now was overgrown with vegetation and ocluded from view from all sides.
His "chicken" was sitting atop a pile of ashes, which had been his fire. He was burning plastic, amongst other things. The half burned, half raw chicken sat there, having snuffed the flames out when it fell on them. Flies had taken advantage of the situation, and needed to be shoed away, all two dozen of them.
He grabbed some more plastic bags and went to work relighting the fire. "These things burn like crazy," he said. Yeah, because they have petroleum in them. I cringed.
He soon had a roaring flame, which spewed black smoke, going. A lot of black smoke, in fact, enough to give meaning to every fire-truck siren which I heard in the distance.
Then, he rebalanced the chicken parts on a small piece of spring from a mattress, or something, and resumed "cooking" it.
He had some honey packets, probably from Serda's Coffee, and some other sauce, pilfered from some other venue, ready to go on the chicken. Plastic smoked honey and mustard chicken with fly droppings. Yum.
As I was walking away, after telling them that something had suddenly come up and that I needed to get going, it occured to me that, despite having to witness the pathetic spectacle (his "roommate" was laying prone on the concrete a few feet away from the "grill," using his hands as a pillow, while he was getting "breakfast" ready), I now had a place where I could cook on a fire.
I retrieved my cooking grate from the graveyard, collected up some white oak wood, bought some chicken breasts, retrieved my hot sauce, salt, pepper, sesame oil and vinegar from the Christ Church spot, and then went to the concrete slab.
Using cinder blocks to position the grate so it wouldn't fall into the fire, I soon had a nice "smokeless" fire going, using the technique of starting with extremely small kindling and gradually building up, so as to reduce the smoke output to a minimum.
I waited until the flames had died down and I could hold my hand 5 inches over the grate for 5 seconds, but no longer, placed the grate down by itself for a minute to sterilize it, sanitised my hands with some stuff that the Lidgleys sent from London (thank you, Lidgleys), and then put the chicken breasts on, letting them slowly heat up. I was planning upon taking a full half hour to cook them, this after letting them marinate in the vinegar from a jar of pickles for about 15 minutes.
They came out absolutely perfect.
I left a piece wrapped in plastic for those poor hapless souls to try, as soon as their hospitalizations for stomach viruses from the day before have ended. I also left a note: "There is nothing wrong with this chicken. I sanitized my hands and cooked it all the way. -Guitar Man."
Wow.

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....

London To Massachusetts To Florida

Thanks To The Lidgley's
I met with Nina at about 8 o'clock, persuant to our agreement to meet at 7 'o clock this evening.
I suppose that she might be running on Russian time and was actually 9 hours early.
Karrie came along, ostensibly to meet Nina, but also privy to the knowledge that Nina was to give me money, as per our agreement.
Karrie, who had risen from the ashes of sleeping all morning with an empty vodka bottle laying by her head, had somehow procured a 4 pack of beer, of which 2 remained.
She said that she had run into my friend Doug, who had "drooled all over me," and given her "a couple of bucks."
While I waited for the hour to change to 7 'o clock in Moscow, Karrie became overly amorous, rubbing my shoulders, nibbling my ears and licking me like a dog.
It was hard for me to push out of my mind the thought that it might have been related to the money which I was about to recieve.
Nina showed up and gave me $125 dollars. This was significant to me because of the fact that the sum was comprised of every denomination of cash, down to a five dollar bill. This made it seem like she had scraped it together, and maybe even given me every last cent that she had. 100 dollar bills don't send this same message.
Karrie was almost comatose by the time 8 'o clock and Nina rolled along. She didn't perhaps make a grand impression upon Nina, who had already read some of her incoherent letters from jail.
Nina gave me the money and then I went to the Chinese restaurant for some simple white rice. Karrie was by my side, step for step.
I bought the white rice, which I always buy from that place, having allergies to soy and other constituants of their fare. I could almost read in Karrie's face a bafflement over why I didn't just "throw down" and order the most expensive feast available, sharing it with her, of course.
I don't change my ways, just because I have a little bit of money in my pocket. I don't go "hog-wild" and wake up broke the next day like the likes of Karrie, who figures that she can just go out and get more money the next day, like ringing a bell (to quote Chuck Berry) I digress
The Lidgley's Package Arrives
I rode off, after sharing my white rice with Karrie, and telling her that I was going to come here to the internet cafe and update my blog. I basically insinuated that I didn't need her tagging along.
As I rode away a few yards, I heard Karrie calling to me. I turned to see her bike laying on the ground in front of a stationary car. She was just struck by a car, I thought.
I returned to see that the driver of the car was none other than Nina, who presented me with a parcel, containing the Grateful Dead tee shirt which the Lidgley's had sent to my mom in Massachusetts, and which was forwarded to Florida. What a world tour that shirt has taken!! London to Mass. to Florida!
The package also contained what I was on my way to get: coffee and cigarettes.
I look at this as an omen, telling me that I will tour the world playing Grateful Dead music and will never have to worry about coffee and cigarettes.
When Nina handed me the package, she whispered. "Daniel, this girl...she needs rehab, she is sick. She is a big risk to you. You need to leave her. She is no good for you."
This was Nina's first time meeting Karrie, and her "gut" reaction.
Nina has my best interests in mind and always has.
She didn't have to give me money, but she did because she had promised. She hugged me and as she did, I told her in Russian "Ti harowsha gzenshina" which means, you are a fine woman. She laughed.
She understood then that my experiences with her meant enough for me to have retained the Russian language which I had learned.
Now, What do I do about Karrie.
How can I avoid her crying like a baby and making me feel like I am the only man that could every love her???? When I leave her behind...

Grabbers (or How Does That Grab You?)

I am ducking and dodging The Law. I'm in St. Augustine, where my life is "worthless."
"My love is strong, and it pushes me onward"
I came back to grab whatever wasn't grabbed, when Karrie and I left here.
I discovered that everything which we hadn't grabbed HAD been grabbed (by someone.)
This is "par for the course" in St. Augustine.
I'm leaving on the last yellow bus out of town, -don't know when I'll be back again-
"I Don't Know What To Tell You"
I saw Larry briefly, last night, while keeping an "eye out," for the bike cops.
I told him I needed a place to lay my head, and maybe a blanket; I had missed the last yellow bus out...
"I don't know what to tell you, we've been staying at Dee Dee's for the past couple of weeks..."
I know what you can tell me, Larry; you can tell me: "I remember that night when we were staying off of the canal in Mandarin and I was curled up and shivering on the ground under a flimsey blanket, and you came and threw one of your two sleeping bags over me, whereupon I relaxed into a comfortable sleep." You might have said something along those lines...
This was God's way of telling me "See, there's nothing here for you in St. Augustine," for those of you who believe in Him.

Photos Arrive

The Ocala pictures arrived from the Lidgeley's.

More on them, and more of them, later...

All Shook Up

Plus, more on John's Wedding, which he decided NOT to have performed by an Elvis impersonator, even though he "thought about it." He thought about it??? He's joking, isn't he??

Elvis: "Do you John, promise to not be cruel, and to love Ester "tender?"

John: "I do"

Elvis: "Ester, if John is in sickness, or poorer, or the Kentucky rain is pouring down; Is that alright, Mama?"

Ester: "It is."

Elvis: "John, are you a hunk of burnin' love for Ester?"

John: "I am."

Elvis "Will you be Ester's teddy bear?"

John: "I will."

Elvis: "Then, by the power invested in me, as the King of Rock -n- Roll I now pronounce you all hooked up! (hey, hey hey!)

Stripes Are In

Monday, Things To Do:

• Bag up Trash
  



• Walk to the Bus Station
  



• Go To Jail

Monday, I was up realatively early. I had about 14 bucks on me, and was intent upon going out and playing the exit ramp. I got to the bus station just as the busses were gathered and ready to depart. They all meet together there and leave simultaneously for all points.

There was a guy there who said the he would "hook" me "up" if he could play a song on my guitar. I let him play, he gave me one dollar, and then the busses departed. I had one hour to kill, so I went through the park to the little store and bought a can of Busch beer. I sat in the park, leaning against a large tree, which I surmised would shield me from view.

A car pulled up and two burly guys got out and milled about, reading the inscriptions on statues and strolling down the path, acting like tourists. When they got near me, they stopped acting like tourists and started acting more like undercover cops, badge under the lapel and all.

They informed me that I had an open container, and went on to add that, even if it wasn't open, the possession of it was illegal in that park. There are no signs posted to enlighten anyone of this peculiarity, and those poor souls who hop off a Greyhound, and ask directions to the nearest store, have no idea that the park is like a spider's web, and the cops have 8 legs.

They Take Me To Jail

They called for a "transport," and one showed up in the person of a black female cop, who drove me to the Marion County Jail, while talking and giggling into her cellphone the whole way. Say, isn't that against the....never mind!

The Judge Lets Me Out

The Judge was a woman, who appeared on a TV screen. She said that anyone wearing a blue striped uniform is there on a misdemeanor and that she would probably be able to sentence them then and there. I looked down at the color of my stripes (shown above.) She had dealt with a group of misdemenors before me, so I had the battery of questions memorized. I said I wasn't going to hire a lawyer, that I would represent myself. I said that I was pleading "guilty," gave her my age, how far I went in school, said that I could read and write English ("though some of my college professors might take issue with that statement," *judge smiles for the first time that morning*) I then said that I wasn't currently under the influence of drugs nor alcohol.

"Currently, huh?" quipped Her Honor.

"Nobody has coerced me into entering this plea, or threatened me, and at the risk of sounding presumptuous, I enter it intelligently."

I saved her a whole lot of talking, sparing her from the 12th rendition of "the questions to ask misdemeanors," She smiled and said "Well, I guess this isn't the crime of the century," and the gates swung open. (8 hours later; they are SLOW in Marion County.)

The money, which I stash in my secret hiding compartment for just such occasions, was still in my secret hiding compartment. $11.48. I went to the store and bought a can of beer (heck, yeah) and hid myself very well behind more than just one large tree, drank it, then caught the bus back to camp. I would need to be up early and hit the exit ramp hard on Wednesday, trying to come up from $11.48 minus the beer, minus the bus fare.

I Come Up A Bit

Wednesday morning came. I was up with the sun and took the two busses out to the highway. I was nervous. If I didn't make a cent, I would have just enough to return on the bus, flat broke. I would then have to resort to selling off some of the packs of Marlboros, which the Lidgleys gave to me last week.

I got out in the median with my sign which read "Thank You 4 Stimulating The Economy." The economy was stimulated to the tune of about 44 bucks. I bought two Whoppers for 4 bucks, causing me to miss the next to the last bus back to town. I got the last one. On it was a guy who had been on the one that I took out there in the morning. "How did you do? Did you come up some?"

"Yeah, I'm grateful," I said. "Good for you," he said.

Police Visit Tent

This morning, I slept a little longer in the morning. I heard noises, and then I saw them. Cops, trying to find a path into the woods. One of them fell when he tried to use a rotted, fallen tree as a stepping-stone.

Then, the first one appeared and ordered me to show him my hands. He asked if I was alone. "Are you sure," he asked, noticing that my tent was at least a 4-man one.

He said that there was a complaint about someone staying "back there." It turned out that the complaint was about some laundry which someone had hung over the trees to dry after last weeks rainstorm. They said that they weren't going to arrest me. We had a nice chat about how I should use the library to post resumes on Monster.com because "You seem pretty intelligent, there must be a better way than this *gestures toward the tent*"

Then, they were on their way, and I am on my way, and the world is still turning.

A Letter From Karrie

My mom told me about a letter from Karrie. I had an impulse to call her last night. I lost a buck into the phone and then some really cool rainbow kids let me use their cellphone. Karrie is lonely and "lost" and has gotten and spent the money, which I sent. I am going now to send her some more, and then will try to get an hour or so of playing in at the ramp. If I make out alright, I will add to the amount in the letter, since it won't go out until 9 am., according to the mailbox.

Wednesday Into Saturday

The Lidgleys Visit
Wednesday came, and along with it, the Lidgleys, Alyne and Mike. I was waiting at the Dominos with John. The Lidgleys had made a wrong turn and were delayed. John offered me a sandwich, and I was eating it, when they pulled up, ready to go for lunch. We found The Golden Corral, despite the "directions" which we were given. I had all that I could eat, and a wide variety, so as to obtain trace minerals and vitamins found only in things, such as pickled watermelon rind.
We talked about many things, including Karrie. It was a good meal, the vegetables were fresh, and they were very nice poeple. It was hard to talk about my plans, because I was still formulating them. They seemed to be wondering how I got where I am in life.
They dropped me off, along with a large bag of provisions. I hid the bag behind the Kangaroo, and then went off to find a place to pitch the tent. I have been playing Russian Roulette with the clouds for too long. I had to walk two miles toward the county line, before I found a spot that had room for the tent. I buried the cartons of cigarettes and left some of my clothing there. I then started walking the 2 miles back to where the tent and the rest of the stuff was, grabbing the stuff behind the Kangaroo along the way.
The next morning, I decided to explore further back into the woods where I have been staying. I found that it went back at least a couple hundred yards. Then I discovered an abandoned campsite. There was a park bench, a trash receptacle, and not much else. I wondered if the inhabitants moved out, or were ferreted out by The Law. I decided to pitch my tent in a spot, not as far back as them, in case the cops check there regularly. I got the thing pitched on smooth, level ground, then I hid Karrie's backpack, which now contains all the stuff I brought, along with all the stuff the Lidgleys gave us. I moved it away from the tent, so that if the tent is found by a thief, maybe the backpack will go unnoticed.
I Play The Interstate
I then started walking towards the bus station. I caught the Orange bus out to where the Interstate crosses Rt. 200.
"We Don't Have Any Quarters!"
I stopped at the same store and the same foreigner said that the same restroom is "still out of order." This time, he added something about his being tired of cleaning it up. I guess he has had some messy people who carry backpacks and guitars before.
I got a lager and went to the counter. His wife, (I assume) told me to hurry up because of "other customers." There was nobody behind me in line. My total was $1.80, and I was fishing for a nickel in my pocket, so that she could give me back a quarter, instead of two dimes when she scooped up the two dollars and shoved two dimes at me. I had found the nickel and said "I was going to give you this, so I could get a quarter, etc" She said "We don't have any quarters!"
I just left. You can't argue with some foreigners. They must have been having a bad day, what with the restroom out of order, and no quarters; I almost pitied them.
I fortified myself with the lager and then went out on the median and made 20 bucks in about an hour. Then, it was starting to get dark, and so I left. I discovered that the last bus out had left at 7 pm. It was 7:40 pm, and so I started the 6 mile walk back to the tent. I was out of cigarettes, and didn't want to walk two more miles to get another pack, so I spent 4 bucks on one. I will sell one of the packs of Marlboros for 4 bucks and re-coup it.
8 More Days Here
I can't see staying here much longer. The bottom is going to drop out of the one Interstate ramp, sooner or later. Now, I go to play at the Marathon, since the cigarettes are hidden out that way. I will also write Karrie another letter.
Karrie Letter Returned
Of all the rules of the jail which are enforced inconsistently, there is one stating that a letter sent to an inmate must bear the "jail number" of the incarcerated. The money which I sent to Karrie a week ago has shown up at my mom's, returned. Poor Karrie is sitting in there and almost three weeks have gone by without her having heard from me. She must feel forsaken.

The Bus Is Leaving

...At 1:45 tommorow morning.
I will be on it, but not Karrie.
Karrie Arrested Sunday Night
Sunday night, I played at the Baymeadows and 95 ramp and did fairly well. Karrie flew her sign on the opposite ramp, doing well enough to go to the liquor store and get a 1.75 liter bottle of Canadian Premium Whiskey.
She was returning to my spot, just as the cops were pulling up. They asked for ID, told me that what I was doing was "obstructing traffic." There was no money in my case, and I didn't have a sign, or else, I would have been doing something much more heinous than "obstructing traffic."
(I know how they think)
To our horror, Karrie's failure to appear on her myriad tickets came up on the computer, and they (St. John's County) said that they indeed wanted to extridite one Karrie Porras. I had thought that they wanted to get rid of us and would not do that. I felt terrible.
I took her backpack, promising to keep it safe and dry, and promising to send her a letter (with money, so she can buy lotions and potions from commissary.)
No Coffee Waiting
When I was unpacking her bag and I smelled her sweater, I felt terrible. I woke up lonely and depressed and wondering how I could have ever thought that she was a burden and a hinderance. There was no fire burning, and no coffee waiting....
Now, it is the evening before the bus is to embark. Plans have changed, and I will not ride the bike, I will take about half of what we were to have taken originally. If Ocala is a bust, I will come back here and re-group. I have been making 30 bucks per hour playing the ramps, and if my promised job of 7 bucks an hour doesn't feel right, I am out of there.
I plan to meet the Lidgleys, that is one of my prime aims in taking the journey.
Now, I go to mail Karrie $15....

Santana Claus

This morning, I woke up with $13.74.
Last night, I played at the visitors center, until the sun went down and the temperature along with it. The tourists were either hiding behind the historic buildings, or had gone home.
Karrie came along and promptly fell asleep beside me.
I took the opportunity to go into O' Malleys, hoping that Amy was working and that I could complain about the rude treatment the previous night. She wasn't.

Ok, It Was More Like This
I went to the spot by A1 Aleworks and played as fast as I could, in order to stay warm. I was down to a tank-top after about 30 minutes. The people coming out of the Aleworks and facing the cold and seeing me playing Santana at a breakneck speed in only a tank top, sighed, as if to say "we usually don't tip these guys, but this guy is brave," threw what amounted to the $13.74, plus what I put in on the whiskey (I was cycling past the liquor store, when I heard a familiar voice cry "Daniel!" She had enough for a fifth of cheap rot-gut vodka. I threw in another 3 bucks, so that we could get a bottle of something which said "smooth as silk" right on the front of the bottle. Plus, there was a caricature of the founder of the distillery, and he looked like an alright fellow...)
Karrie and I, (and the alright looking fellow) sat by a fire. We didn't argue. The evening went as smoothly as silk.
Now, it is getting warmer. Temperature of 65 degrees today, 70 by Friday.
We bathed in the lime body wash from London, which the Lidgleys sent. We smelled great. Karrie is happy.
Now I go to the same spot to play the same songs, with, hopefully the same result or better.

Myself and Carlos Santana...hmmm

I want to thank the Lindley's (and I know I am getting their name wrong) for the parcel, which I picked up at the mission today. I had faith in the postal service, and believe that, since stealing mail is a federal offence, it's enough of a deterent for the average thief, enough to thiink that I would indeed get the parcel.

The sentiment of the denizens of St. Francis is that nothing good could come into such a place, and the parcel went unstolen, based upon this.
It was a bleak picture at the Visitor's Center, where I attempted to play, and I didn't see the chance for much profit, so, I went to get the parcel, thinking "Gee, I hope they put 20 bucks in it, like they did last time," quite frankly. They did.
The fact that it is freezing cold tonight makes it a very timely 20 bucks, which was the first thing visible, upon my slicing the pack open. My fingers are too numb to do the Beatles justice.

Above is a picture of where the Lindley's live. The Artfull Dodger, Jenny Wren, Uriah Heep, Oliver Twist, and David Copperfield have all milled about these streets, which amazes me.