Tonight my editor Otis B. Easy came through like a true hero. OTIS! MY MAN! He borrowed, met up with me at Molly’s with the last $30 bucks I needed to get the keys to my new place across the street on Toulouse. Up until now, I have been “staying at a friend’s place.” It sucked not having my own space. I am an artist, my space becomes my art, I need it to really create. Although, the challenges of not having a traditional studio space has made me a better artist. I have drawn many of the Quarter Rat cartoons while sitting on a bench in Jackson Square, not for inspiration, but because of necessity. Now with private space, I should really kick ass.
Otis met up with me at Molly’s coming up with the needed amount to get the keys from Richard at the Internet Cafe. Met a new bartender who just started at Molly’s. She’s cute as hell and a sweetheart. I hurriedly returned to show him the keys and said “Want to see the new Quarter Rat office?” My first twenty minutes in my new abode was an editorial meeting about October’s issue. The meeting was interrupted my me miserably trying to beat a roach to death with a step stool. His beating death took longer than the discussion of content. Otis laughed as Christopher Lloyd tried to kill the John McLain of cockroaches. “Do you always scream like a girl?” he asked.
After I fumbled trying to figure out what keys went where, we walked down my driveway formally known as Bourbon Street towards Canal. Wow, this is my new home. I have been living down here on and off for months. Now I receive nods from bouncers and doormen like they are my neighbors, because they are. What are all of these damn tourists doing here in my front yard?
My brother was so proud of his back deck in suburban New Jersey. Plastic Tiki Bar and hot tub. He was quick to brag how much he spent on it all. Then he complained about he never gets to enjoy it because of all of the yard work and maintenance to the new additions. A monthly mortgage that is more than my W-2 for last year. Well, my back deck has a hundred or so bars, any given night at least 12 different types of live bands, dozens of naked hot women, 24 hour Karaoke and a mechanical bull. Seven hundred a month, utilities included.
Walking back from the drug store on Canal with a new pack of smokes I stopped to watch a black guy with dreadlocks singing “I got friends in low places.” Smirking about what a great welcome home song it was, I remembered that I now reside only a few blocks from fellow Quarter Rats Brad Pitt and Angeline Jolie, I’ll have to invite them over for a few bong hits.
'Cause I got friends in low places,
Where the Whiskey drowns,
And the Beer chases my blues away,
But I'll be okay,
Now I'm not big on social graces,
Think I'll slip on down to the oasis,
Oh I got friends,
In low places.
(That reminds me, Nic you can crash on my couch if you can’t find your way home.)
Otis met up with me at Molly’s coming up with the needed amount to get the keys from Richard at the Internet Cafe. Met a new bartender who just started at Molly’s. She’s cute as hell and a sweetheart. I hurriedly returned to show him the keys and said “Want to see the new Quarter Rat office?” My first twenty minutes in my new abode was an editorial meeting about October’s issue. The meeting was interrupted my me miserably trying to beat a roach to death with a step stool. His beating death took longer than the discussion of content. Otis laughed as Christopher Lloyd tried to kill the John McLain of cockroaches. “Do you always scream like a girl?” he asked. After I fumbled trying to figure out what keys went where, we walked down my driveway formally known as Bourbon Street towards Canal. Wow, this is my new home. I have been living down here on and off for months. Now I receive nods from bouncers and doormen like they are my neighbors, because they are. What are all of these damn tourists doing here in my front yard?
My brother was so proud of his back deck in suburban New Jersey. Plastic Tiki Bar and hot tub. He was quick to brag how much he spent on it all. Then he complained about he never gets to enjoy it because of all of the yard work and maintenance to the new additions. A monthly mortgage that is more than my W-2 for last year. Well, my back deck has a hundred or so bars, any given night at least 12 different types of live bands, dozens of naked hot women, 24 hour Karaoke and a mechanical bull. Seven hundred a month, utilities included.
Walking back from the drug store on Canal with a new pack of smokes I stopped to watch a black guy with dreadlocks singing “I got friends in low places.” Smirking about what a great welcome home song it was, I remembered that I now reside only a few blocks from fellow Quarter Rats Brad Pitt and Angeline Jolie, I’ll have to invite them over for a few bong hits.
'Cause I got friends in low places,
Where the Whiskey drowns,
And the Beer chases my blues away,
But I'll be okay,
Now I'm not big on social graces,
Think I'll slip on down to the oasis,
Oh I got friends,
In low places.
(That reminds me, Nic you can crash on my couch if you can’t find your way home.)
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