Cold Turkey

• $1.50 Tuesday
• Lilly In The Field
• Help On The Way

Dying But Not Shaking
Monday, I woke up with like 7 cents in my pocket.
I walked past Uniques which is my usual route. This made me want a beer. I wasn't "shaking" or anything; but rather just "dying" for a beer.
I got to the corner of Iberville and Royal and ran into a guy I know who dyes himself red on occasion and retains a reddish tint in his hair and skin on every other occasion. He must use a "permanent" dye.
He is not allowed to go into the Unique Boutique because of an altercation stemming from the fact that the store wouldn't take his money one night because it was splotched with red dye (so it looked like it came out of a stolen bank bag?).
He said that he would buy me a beer if I would go in the store and get him one.
I did.
I decided to cross the street to drink mine where I could watch sports on the Checkered Parrots many TVs.

As I reached the other sidewalk, a couple was approaching.
The man took a sip off of a large cup of what turned out to be Abita Amber; winced; then set it on a trash can a few feet from me and they walked on...
I found it to be warm, but mixed it with a cold Hurricane Lager; making the Abita colder and the Hurricane taste better.
I walked on; noticing how deserted the streets looked and how clean the sidewalks were. 
The street sweepers have gotten way ahead of their game; having very little trash to sweep; and I walked the length of Decatur Street without spotting a cigarette butt. There certainly weren't the usual 100 dollar bills laying everywhere...
I had a chance to do some soul searching; as the two beers began to wear off; and I walked past all the people with drinks in their hands and cigarettes in their mouths and thought about how wonderful it would be to be free of all addictions.
On Esplanade Avenue, I decided to bend my path straight to my playing spot.
I got there and sat next to my guitar; still in its case.
There was nobody to play for.
Jim
A white van, just like the one that (addiction free) Tanya and Dorise own, stopped in front of me.
A man in his late fifties with gray curly hair, who was driving, asked me if I remembered him. "We've talked before...a couple times."
The same problem which had cost me a free ride to Atlanta reared its head in the fact that I didn't recognize him.
He wound up parking the van and sat by me; reminding me of our conversation, which brought back the memory that I resembled a friend of his so much that it was striking; and he had told me about the guy.
He is a portrait artist; and is much better with faces than I am. And a guitarist.
He invited me to the nearby Community Coffee, where we sat for a couple hours, drinking excellent coffee and talking.
We talked about all kinds of things; and he said that our conversation was exactly like the ones that he had had with my twin; whom he thinks is in California now.
As we parted, he gave me a couple dollars and told me that he had several guitar amps and a Roland Micro Cube "right in the back of my van."
"It takes 6 AA batteries..."
That would be a good amp for me to start with, but I would need a way to tote it around and would need at least a microphone to plug into it for starters.
I had a feeling that he was contemplating just giving it to me, but he asked me if I was going to be on my spot regularly.
I gave him an outline of my typical schedule there and we parted as friends.
Maybe he will show up when I have some money and I can buy the amp.
I wondered later he had really been Dorise Blackman, morphed into a gray haired man, with the white van being the only clue to her identity. 
It would explain my striking resemblance to her friend "He even wears a hat just like that and boots just like that..." 
Maybe when she (Dorise) takes on different forms; they exist in parallel universes and maybe I even do and don't realize it. 
My trouble with recognizing faces is diametrical to Jims (as that was his name) who said he could now do a portrait of me from memory, after just sitting over coffee for a couple of hours.
One quirk about parallel universes is that it's easier to drive the same van in each one -saves money at the DMV.
I also thought about the resemblance to my brother Jim of the guy who gave me the hundred dollar tip about 6 weeks ago; and this guys name being Jim (and having a brother named Daniel) and thought about how the thing that I miss the most about sobriety was cosmic connections like that becoming elucidated.
Tuesday Night

Tuesday night, I got to my playing spot and had the dilemma of trying to tune my strings; one of which was an "electric" and not "acoustic."
I gave up upon it. I wasn't going to play out of tune; even if I did have less than a dollar in change on me.
Then Lilly came out of her condo. "Consider the lillies of the field," I began to sing.
She was pretty drunk on Chardonnay and Pinot Grigio "from my house," and was ranting and stirring up trouble with the gay guys walking past.
She owns property in the gay district, where I play, and was yelling things like "God made Adam and Eve; not Adam and Steve!"
And, I sat there, totally sober and pretty hungry, because I had only eaten one meal that day at the Rebuild Center; and decided that I needed to go on a scavenger hunt.
I would look for drinks, food, and more importantly, guitar strings.
Lilly wasn't offering me any of the wine that she had in her house, but she did let me in the gate and show me around her place.
She has a swimming pool behind the place (and out of place with the rest of the 300 year old decor).
"I'm going to try to find a drink," I answered to her question.
I couldn't think of many friends that I had in the city at that point.
I didn't want to ask the Hokum High Rollers for a guitar string; having only just made their acquaintance; and I set out in the general direction of where Jesse plays; though doubting very much that he would be there.
I wondered how much I would really need a new string to play for nobody.
I came to a certain hotel across the street from the Supreme Court building and there was a full cup of some kind of expensive whiskey on ice.
I took a few sips and then a few steps and then spotted Brian Hudson (a friend who hadn't come to mind) playing on the corner of St. Louis and Royal.
He let me get a whole new set of strings from him on credit.
Then, the guy from a previous post, who bought my old Jasmine guitar walked by and gave me a fist pump.
Then Lilly and her two daughters walked by; and it felt like I was watching a Broadway production of my blog...
The Chicken Bag
Having only eaten two ham sandwiches the whole day; I wasn't ashamed to go to Rouses Market at 12:30, after having played and made only $1.50 and wait for the renowned chicken bag to be thrown in the trash.
I should say: thrown towards the trash, because it never lands there.
"Make sure everybody gets some," said Tiffany as she delivered herself of it.

Isn't the guy in the blue shirt decadent?!?

The bag was torn open and all I saw were elbows and guys taking 4 or 5 containers of chicken and ribs, and I kind of stood there waiting for someone to make sure that everybody got some, but all the food was pirated and whisked away.
I even said "Hey, I've only had two sandwiches for lunch; all day!" which got no response.
There were a couple other guys who didn't get anything, and we talked about reporting back to Tiffany, who would probably tell the guy (and it was the biggest blackest guy who took possession of the chicken bag, harkening us all to the stone age) that if the food isn't shared; that they are going to start pouring bleach on it.
I managed to get a thigh which had fallen on the sidewalk that nobody wanted. They weren't that "starving," I guess.
This morning, I borrowed 5 bucks from Howard.
I'll be able to pay him back after playing the new strings tonight and certainly after the Southern Decadence Festival which is this weekend.