I wrote this coming off a week long run from Charleston through Mississippi and Louisiana and right on back.  I didn't know it, but I had a brain tumor at the time.  Far out.  Maybe it shows in my writing.  Maybe it doesn't really.  But, I guess it does, since I was physically and emotionally affected by the tumor.  Crazy times.

Rubberneckers In A Car Crash World

I'm standing above the Mississippi river. I'm a few hours away from a hangover. To my right is the "JAX" beer sign, it is reminding me of the "Emser Tile" sign that used to shine through my window when I lived off of Santa Monica in Hollywood. My thoughts are interrupted when one of the members of the rock and roll band that I sing and play guitar in tells me that he just talked to my dad. 
"What?" I ask. 
"Yeah," he says. "He said someone called his phone from your phone and asked him if he wanted to buy some DJ equipment. He was just wondering if you were alive." 
SHIT. This means someone has broken into the car. And decided to rub it in by punching "DAD" on the phone that they stole. 
The rock and roll band starts heading towards the car. We are in pretty good spirits all considering the circumstances. We are not that surprised. Windows get busted and things get jacked in New Orleans. 
We make it back to the parking lot that we spent 60 dollars to park the car and trailer in. There is broken glass, but the trailer has not been opened. 
The thieves got away with: 
1 Phone 
1 mixing board 
3 microphones 
They left: 
1 GPS 
1 Sattelite Radio 
! $2500 Motif keyboard(really?) 

We are surveying the damage and waiting on the police. We don't realize that one of the members of the rock and roll band has slipped away. We only realize this as we see him walking back towards us, lunatic style, informing us not to worry because he took care of everything by smashing up some police cars. 
This is somehow supposed to be reassuring. 
We tell him to take off, but he does not. He heads back to the scene of the crime to retrieve his phone. He is immediately arrested. The rest of us have whiplash from the incident. 
The sun is up. 
The cops will not help us because one of us smashed up some police cars which pretty much voids some hoodlums stealing a few items from our ride. 
I walk to a bar at the corner of Conti and Dauphine and get a bloody mary. It is absolute magic. 
I walk to the Cafe Du Monde for some coffee and a beignet. It is also magic. 
I return to the room and sleep until 2 in the afternoon. The hotel gave the rock and roll band a late check out. Thoughtful. 

The window is being fixed and I'm bored. One of the members of the rock and roll band is trying to get "Keith Richards/Moon" out of jail. Then, I realize that I am bored and only a block away from Bourbon Street which is the equivalent of being hungry at a Ryans Steakhouse with a twenty dollar bill. I stuff some jasmine in my shirt pocket and start drinking. 

I am in the backseat of the car heading to Hattiesburg. A call comes in saying that Keith Richards/Moon has been released. We did not think this would happen for another 72 hours. We drive to Hattiesburg. One of the members of the rock and roll band gets a ride with a friend back to New Orleans to retrieve Keith Richards/Moon. The rest of us start playing to an empty house. The proprietor of the empty house says to knock it off since the house is empty and takes us to another bar and buys us beers. 

I am driving somewhere between Atlanta and Augusta. The rest of the rock and roll band is sleeping. The sun is coming up. I am blaring a radio preacher. I am hoping he has the wrong idea. I could drive forever. 

I am sitting on Folly beach with Keith Richards/Moon and one of the other members of the rock and roll band. I have not slept since Jackson. We are polishing off the cooler of leftover beer that amounted on the road. There is wind but no chill. 
Somehow, it is better because of all the bullshit, even though it shouldn't be.

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