i am vagabond. the name more romantic than the reality. No, it is not my name. It is the name of my state. beggar, bum, vagrant, riff-raff, tramp, derelict, panhandler, mooch. refuse of humanity.
I am Missionary. Devil Dodger, Glory Roader, Bible Thumpah, Holy Rolluh. A man of the cloth. A paltry, tattered,
whiskey-soaked cloth it is. Drop a Dollah in my hat and I’ll be saving your soul, son. No snake swallering here. Just
the good Lawd’s word to wrest your sorry soul from the clutches of Hell’s minions. Buy a tramp a coffee. A donut
and I have a saint’s relic for you.
This is my Corner. God grants us all very little in this life that is truly ours. For me it is this corner in His City. Yes,
this city, with its scandalous acrid stench singeing our nostrils and heinous humidity heavy on our shoulders, is
God’s City.
From this corner I shall proclaim to the world my deeds. I am the man to whom all things are known. I am the
pontiff who knows the countries of the world. I am wise, see mysteries and know of secret things.
“I am God the Almighty. Walk in my presence and be blameless. Between you and me I will cut a covenant, and I
will multiply you exceedingly.”
I guess she doesn’t want to be multiplied. Stuck up. With her smart suit and clattering pumps, she is off to screw
some goat in a similarly smart suit picked out by his wife who has never worn a smart suit. i did once. wore a smart suit that is. Besides, I am sure the tactile experience of the tattered Bible I wave holds little spiritual value for her next to the chatroom vision quest afforded her by the laptop in her shoulder bag. lucidity. she seeks.
my corner. lafayette square. i can walk just a couple minutes and get a whiskey or tobacco or a Ham sandwich. And a little furthuh I can get some beignets and coffee in the quartah courtesy of some tourist.
“Moni, give ya fatha a dollah!”
“Ya not mah fatha, ya ole goat! Ya mah lovuh, dahlin. Heah’s five.”
Her soul is worth saving, if only to keep that body o’hers movin’ round heah.
“You’re a saint, luv. The Lawd says ta honuh your fatha and mutha and ya do, dahlin. Ya keep ya fatha in good
spirits.”
“Lovuh, dahlin. Lovuh, not fatha.”
“dat’s no way to tawk to ya… hey wait a minute, who you?”
who is this wolfish-looking fellow all pompish in my neighborhood?“Who are you, young trouble-maker? Where you from?”
“Well, I’m George, ol’timer. Who are you?”
“Doncha worry bout who I am. Jus’ what are you doing here on my street. And I maybe oller than you, but dat ain’t
no reason to be callin’ me ol’timer”
“Well, excuse me sir. As I said, my name is George, and I am here representing a group of investors who would like
to buy that building. I am an appraiser and a consultant. So tell me, sir, how did you come by that I was not from
New Orleans?”
“Doncha git wise wit me. Talkin’ about ‘comeby.’ I know who is from here and who is not from here. It say here on
this business card ‘George W.’ Is ‘at like the president? And I thought ya said you was here on account of investors.
What’s this Army Corps of Engineers?”
“No, sir. Not like the pres—“
“Doncha snort at me.”
“No, sir. Not at you. Not like the president. W is for his middle name. Mine is for the last name. And I am sure a
man as wise as you knows he shouldn’t take everything he reads for face value.”
“Doncha paternize me. And you tell me now what dat last name is.”
“Woland, sir. I am George Woland.”
“Yeah, well, George Woland, doncha paternize me. I know what to take fer face valyah and what not to take. So get
on wit yaself. Git outta here.”
I oughta show him whose street he’s on. Throw a few ah ma bottles at ‘im and give ‘im a few lumps.
“You wait here. I’m gonna go git dat cop on the cornah. Offisah, Offisah, can ya come check out dis fellah.”
“What fellow, ol’timer?”
Why duh hell do these guys dat can’t be any mo’ than five or so yeahs youngah than me always think they can call
me ol’timer?
“This George W fellah ovah here in his pomp tux. He says he is wit some investahs.”
“Ol’man, I don’t see nobody. What are you going on about? Have you gotten your meds today? I ain’t letting you
stay in the clink tonight so don’t even try it.”
So where did this Woland guy git off to so fast? As I figah’d he didn’t want no trouble with the law. Shifty lil rat he
is.