It is Christmas day; and some kind of dinner is to be served soon, but I am going to go into the quarter with hardly any money and see what a Christmas Day can bring. I think they are serving gumbo.
I went out and played some last night; mostly it was "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas," with a very harmonica laden arrangement.
I must not have made very much; I know I spent about 10 bucks on libation, if that is the right word.
I woke up almost broke, the cat having knocked my pineapple plant off of the window sill and onto the little table below where it just missed landing on the phone.
The cat has already torn up the foam rubber on my subwoofer.
I spoke to Louise last night, who was doing a reading for a young black couple when I first walked past her, drinking a Hurricane malt liquor which I had financed at The Unique Grocery, putting 50% down with the balance of 75 cents to be paid before 1 AM.
I was thinking that I could get at least a couple bucks from Louise for what would be my second beer of the night which I would arrive at the Lilly Pad with.
Since she seemed to have gotten at least the one reading that she was aparently in the midst of.
I walked past without disturbing her; and then soon came upon Weil and Anna, the electic violin duo that started out with Weil coming into town a couple years ago and setting up on Canal Street where he seemed to be making at least 300 bucks a night, playing melodies over a repeating loop of a syncopated two note violin chord.
Him being a young black guy, it was apparent by the swarm of black people around him, taking videos of him, some of the women with teary eyes, as if they were witnessing history being made, as a black man demonstrates proficiency upon an instument that has traditionally been as "white" as a set of golf clubs.
Then Anna came along from Poland and romance bloomed, as they were both very closely matched in talent, each being able to play either the melody or the syncopated two note violin chord, which now no longer needed to be put on an infinite loop through an electronic box, but now could be played live.
They now have a baby, often seen sleeping upon the back of its mother as she plays either the melody or the syncopated two note violin chord.
She would be the first to tell you that
she is doing a bit of baby skeezing; probably could find a sitter for her, but Anna's opinion of any extra tips that might come her way as a product of her having her baby on her back would most likely be: "Hell, yeah, keep them coming!"
They said that Tim the violinist was up at Rouses Market, and so I bent my steps in that direction, hoping that he would give me some money towards the amp.
He did give me 10 bucks.
Then I went back to Louise to find her still giving a reading to the same couple.
I asked her if she wanted anything from Uniques, giving her an opportunity to give me money with a minimal interuption of her reading.
She wanted an iced tea, but handed me no money.
When I got back, her customers had left. She gave me 2 dollars for the 1 dollar iced tea, and then started to tell me a hard luck story of how the day had gone and especially mentioned that she had wound up giving "discount" readings to the few customers that she had had.
We got back on the subject of my apartment, after she asked me if I had gotten the 10 minute? message that she had left on my phone.
The message was basically another belated appology. She had sensed that I was angry about how she pretty much barged into my place the other morning because she absolutely needed to sleep.
She had come in talking a mile a minute about her troubles as if weilding them like a machette in order to hack her way into my place.
The implication, or her "hustle," if you will, was that even if I could have gotten a word in over her tale of having had the worst night of her life (again) how could I interrupt such a sob story to turn her away from my door?
I had just fallen asleep myself. She kind of knows my sleep schedule, and either didn't care that she would be waking me up out of a sound sleep; or maybe purposely did so in order to catch me off guard.
I mentioned all of this to Louise.
If I had turned her away, I would have had to limp her all the way back across the parking lot and to the front gate, at one mile per hour alongside her, giving her a few more minutes to either heap guilt upon me or become otherwise abusive. Then, it would have been hard for me to go back to sleep.
Louise then restated her opinion that, since her taxdollars went into the creation of Sacred Heart Apartments, she felt that she had a certain claim upon them.
I stopped short of telling her that there are 120 or so people here, and why doesn't she knock on one of their doors and force her way onto their sofa, after telling them that the apartment is just as much her's as theirs.
You've just read: 909 words.
I went out and played some last night; mostly it was "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas," with a very harmonica laden arrangement.
I must not have made very much; I know I spent about 10 bucks on libation, if that is the right word.
I woke up almost broke, the cat having knocked my pineapple plant off of the window sill and onto the little table below where it just missed landing on the phone.
The cat has already torn up the foam rubber on my subwoofer.
I spoke to Louise last night, who was doing a reading for a young black couple when I first walked past her, drinking a Hurricane malt liquor which I had financed at The Unique Grocery, putting 50% down with the balance of 75 cents to be paid before 1 AM.
I was thinking that I could get at least a couple bucks from Louise for what would be my second beer of the night which I would arrive at the Lilly Pad with.
Since she seemed to have gotten at least the one reading that she was aparently in the midst of.
I walked past without disturbing her; and then soon came upon Weil and Anna, the electic violin duo that started out with Weil coming into town a couple years ago and setting up on Canal Street where he seemed to be making at least 300 bucks a night, playing melodies over a repeating loop of a syncopated two note violin chord.
Him being a young black guy, it was apparent by the swarm of black people around him, taking videos of him, some of the women with teary eyes, as if they were witnessing history being made, as a black man demonstrates proficiency upon an instument that has traditionally been as "white" as a set of golf clubs.
Then Anna came along from Poland and romance bloomed, as they were both very closely matched in talent, each being able to play either the melody or the syncopated two note violin chord, which now no longer needed to be put on an infinite loop through an electronic box, but now could be played live.
They now have a baby, often seen sleeping upon the back of its mother as she plays either the melody or the syncopated two note violin chord.
She would be the first to tell you that
she is doing a bit of baby skeezing; probably could find a sitter for her, but Anna's opinion of any extra tips that might come her way as a product of her having her baby on her back would most likely be: "Hell, yeah, keep them coming!"
They said that Tim the violinist was up at Rouses Market, and so I bent my steps in that direction, hoping that he would give me some money towards the amp.
He did give me 10 bucks.
Then I went back to Louise to find her still giving a reading to the same couple.
I asked her if she wanted anything from Uniques, giving her an opportunity to give me money with a minimal interuption of her reading.
She wanted an iced tea, but handed me no money.
When I got back, her customers had left. She gave me 2 dollars for the 1 dollar iced tea, and then started to tell me a hard luck story of how the day had gone and especially mentioned that she had wound up giving "discount" readings to the few customers that she had had.
We got back on the subject of my apartment, after she asked me if I had gotten the 10 minute? message that she had left on my phone.
The message was basically another belated appology. She had sensed that I was angry about how she pretty much barged into my place the other morning because she absolutely needed to sleep.
She had come in talking a mile a minute about her troubles as if weilding them like a machette in order to hack her way into my place.
The implication, or her "hustle," if you will, was that even if I could have gotten a word in over her tale of having had the worst night of her life (again) how could I interrupt such a sob story to turn her away from my door?
I had just fallen asleep myself. She kind of knows my sleep schedule, and either didn't care that she would be waking me up out of a sound sleep; or maybe purposely did so in order to catch me off guard.
I mentioned all of this to Louise.
If I had turned her away, I would have had to limp her all the way back across the parking lot and to the front gate, at one mile per hour alongside her, giving her a few more minutes to either heap guilt upon me or become otherwise abusive. Then, it would have been hard for me to go back to sleep.
Louise then restated her opinion that, since her taxdollars went into the creation of Sacred Heart Apartments, she felt that she had a certain claim upon them.
I stopped short of telling her that there are 120 or so people here, and why doesn't she knock on one of their doors and force her way onto their sofa, after telling them that the apartment is just as much her's as theirs.
You've just read: 909 words.
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