On The Card

• More About The Bout
• My Trip To Unity
• Karrie
• Quinsy

...Early To Rise
This morning, I woke up 25 minutes before my alarm was to go off.

I sat up and drank a Rock Star energy drink; knowing that 25 minutes would be just enough time to drift back sleep and then be rudely jolted by the thing when it went off.

At 6:30 a.m., the skies begin to brighten.

At 7:00 a.m., the first of the crew of the Natchez Steamboat arrive and begin to chatter.

I was out by around that time, and walked to the Rebuild Center to try to see the psychiatrist.
Unity With Unity Caseworker

Seeing the psychiatrist had been strongly recommended to my by my Unity caseworker, who is trying to find housing for me.

Yesterday, I walked the 3 miles to visit with him; after having procrastinated for months in doing so.
Psych Out

The psychiatrist was not in; but will be tomorrow.

I will have to either repeat the process of being asleep by 10 p.m., missing out on an opportunity to make money (I woke up almost broke), or play late into the night and then try to jolt myself awake with caffeine and guarana and yerba mate and B vitamins.
Rats Fighting Over My Blanket

I woke up pretty depressed this morning, and figured that that would give the shrink and I fodder for conversation.
The mother rat was atop my feet fighting off some other contender for the space early in the morning; my throat is continuing to nag me; I'm a middle aged man sleeping under a wharf...pick a topic, doc...
What The Doctor Gets Paid For 

I think, after talking to me, he will be able to ascertain that there is "something" wrong with me, either because I haven't cashed a paycheck since 2006, or because I let rats sleep on my blanket, or because I have procrastinated for months in availing myself to a free place to stay; a voucher to purchase furniture with; another one to fill the refrigerator with food with, etc., according to The Clappers*, whom I spoke with outside of Rouses Market, Tuesday night, after Leslie's "goons" had threatened me on Bourbon Street, 3 days after we had fought.

Leslie kind of disappeared from the scene for a couple days after the fight.

He was seen at The Rebuild Center on Monday but, according to reports, was "really quiet and didn't talk to anyone.
Goon Squad

He had apparently talked to someone by Tuesday night, when I was accosted by his friends, Adam and (someone else) as I made my way towards the Lilly spot, half thinking of playing.

"Good luck with that!" said someone whom I thought was just one of those drunks that yell random things at people and objects.

"Good luck with that!" he repeated as he fell in alongside me.
I thought he was predicting that I wasn't going to make anything busking.

"Good luck with that!" I shot back at him; taking him in from head to foot.

He then went on to tell me that he was a friend of Leslie, and that he looked out for him and stood up for him.

He was about my size, but maybe 25 years younger than I.

He was soon joined by another guy, who was a bit larger.

Emboldened by the second guys presence along with a third guy (Jack Daniels, or Evan Williams, maybe Jim Beam) he told me that he might just "throw some shots" at me.

The ambiguity suggesting that "shots" might be punches...or worse.

At one particular intersection, the two tried to coax me off Bourbon Street (where any kind of disturbance would be instantly quelled) and off onto a side street. "Let's talk about this," said the smaller one, as he pulled my sleeve in that general direction.

I pulled away from him; asked him who the hell he was ("Adam,") and then walked along trying to decide which coarse of action to take.
"You're over abusive!" he yelled at my back (as if there is a proper and acceptable level of abuse to anyone).
Post Fight Blessings

After fighting with Leslie on Saturday night, it seemed like a lot of blessings had come my way.

I mentioned immediately finding a whole cigarette on the corner opposite the store which Leslie has been barred from (no big deal, yet symbolic), and then having a random guy pass me a lit joint out of nowhere, and then another random guy passing me a playing card (the king of diamonds), saying something like "something told me to give you this."

When I went back to the scene to see if anything else had fallen out of my pockets or bag during the scuffle, I found the green plastic lion which had been hanging around Leslies neck laying almost under a vehicle.

I put the lion and the king of diamonds together and stuffed them halfway into his mailbox.
The Lion King

He uses a Queen of diamonds to cover the drain in his bathroom sink (to thwart roaches from coming up out of it?) and I thought that the lion plus the king would send him some kind of ambiguous message.

My first action, after determining that the Lilly spot was pretty dead and not worth playing, should Leslie have told Adam and company where I play; where I sleep, etc so that they could mount some kind of "retaliation," was to leave a note in that same mailbox.
A Note To Leslie

I basically apologized for hitting "the Leslie whom I considered one of my best friends and with whom I've had some of the most fun that I've had in NOLA" and then went on to caution him against inciting retaliation against me by misrepresenting the facts.

I recapitulated those facts to jolt his memory; told him that it could have been worse, had I employed my knife during the incident and/or came back to toss a "Molotov cocktail" into the front apartment of his hundred-year-old wooden house -something I graciously talked myself out of after I had taken a walk to calm down and recover my breath and then played so well at Lillys spot.

During that walk, I wondered how well I was going to be able to play...I just punched out my best friend; now I'm going to break out the guitar...Should I sing "All You Need Is Love," or "Aquarius"?!?
I also berated the "other" Leslie who comes out of him after he consumes not many Hurricanes.

I had a feeling of liberation with the knowledge that I was in a position to be free of the guy -for the rest of my life if I wanted.

All I would have to do would be to continue to ignore him and he would understand, and would think: "I guess he'll never speak to me again...I don't blame him..."

I continued to play well on Sunday and Monday; and I found things musical laying around in places; like a hard binder for my notebooks full of lyrics and chords and studies.

The universe seemed to be telling me to forget about the guy and focus upon music.
I Circle My Wagons
After being threatened then deciding not to play Tuesday night; I wanted find the goons and tell them straight up that Leslie had started the fight and to add some of the details which may not have come out in his rendition of the story..
But, I didn't want to have the handicap of my guitar and backpack around my neck making me more vulnerable.
I went to Rouses Market to ask my friends there if I could stash my stuff while I walked Bourbon, looking for the goons.
Tiffany and Trevi, two black female cashiers were of one mind in telling me to not even say anything to them.
Brian Hudson showed up and agreed; asking me: "Has anyone ever been beaten up by Leslies friends after he got beaten up when he deserved it...that you know of?"
Then, The Clappers, who are a heavyset black couple and their 6 year old daughter who clap their hands and sing gospel songs arrived; and similarly tried to dissuade me from seeking out the goons.
They rather tried to encourage me to go directly to Unity and let them help me to get a place to live and get off the streets and to rise above the whole situation.
I decided that I would do just that the next day (yesterday); but that I would still walk Bourbon Street.
I left my stuff at the store and went in search of the goons.
I felt very light and agile without the customary load on my back.
Having thrown and punted the football around and then fought so strenuously 4 days prior and then recovered; I felt stronger, too.
I never spotted his friends, but did see Leslie skulking up and down the street with no drink in his hand and with his head down.
He looked like he had lost his only friend; but I didn't see any black eyes or bruises.
I passed him 3 times, as I had decided to walk back and forth that many times; but he pretended not to see me.
He must have wondered what had happened to my guitar and my pack.

I was prepared to tell him that Adam and his friend had jumped me earlier and stolen them; just to see his reaction.
I was getting a beer at Brothers Market after each pass before doubling back, but he was (barely) pretending not to see them either.
I ended up back at Rouses, seeing what kind of fresh food had been tossed out; when I spotted him the final time.
He was looking in the trash bin outside Pat O' Briens across the street -one of the spots which I had shown him to be good for finding half full drinks.
The (Half) Reconciliation
Last night, I saw him once again, standing on a corner on Bourbon; and decided to speak to him.
I had an almost full 25 oz. can of Hurricane in my hand.
His were empty.
"Are you still coming after me?" I asked "Because, if you're going to attack me, I'll just keep moving..."
"That was weird," he said.
I thought he was referring to what I had just said.
"What was?"
"What happened."
"Did you read my note?"
"I just read the first line and the last line; I didn't read the middle part. I don't like sad stories," he said; referring to things like Molotov cocktails or what would happen to his friends if they unwittingly tried to come under the pitch-dark dock which is booby-trapped with crunchy empty sushi containers...."...crab and catfish food..."
He told me that I was a bigger man than he for apologizing, but expressed concern that I might have killed him. "When you hit me in the left temple, you could have ruptured a blood vessel and killed me! Do you want to kill me? Rough me up a bit, but don't kill me!" he finished with, and patted me on the shoulder.
...So, that's where the "over abusive" came from...
While we talked, I spotted the bigger goon, who started to come towards us; but then stopped in his tracks and feigned to be talking to one of the hot dog cart vendors.
He must have seen the smile on Leslies face and "called off the dogs himself."
Let's go drink beer!, said Leslie.