At the fruit stand today, after a not very interesting weekend. Bill hit the road. Mike was supposed to come over but his parole officer had other ideas. Mike was housebound once more. He was not too happy about that, but now he was WiFi and able to entertain himself. A friend of his who is still incarcerated threw some cold water in his face.

Basically telling him if he doesn’t like it, he could always go back behind bars. There are dozens of men in prison who would be more than willing to trade places; overall while Mike’s situation is not ideal, it is still better than the alternative. It was so simple to figure that out, but it was not taken into consideration until Mike’s buddy set him straight, so to speak.

The weekend was not so bad. It went as expected, just with fewer people around. My time outside the apartment was usually spent going to and from the supermarket. Sunday’s visit was mainly to get things I had forgotten to purchase on Saturday. I spent more money on Sunday than I had spent on Saturday.

The people who were at Bill’s cabaret on Thursday, reminded me of characters from Woody Allen’s Broadway Danny Rose. I tried telling Bill that. Not that these people were without talent, just seemed like people who have toiled away on the fringes of New York City showbiz. I wound up purchasing Broadway Danny Rose for future reference. It does have a Thanksgiving element to it, so we could always watch that then.

And thanksgiving this year won’t be like last year. Last year, Bill and I brought Mike along to Garfield for dinner. Elaine was very welcoming and had the three of us back for Christmas dinner. Mike was humbled by Elaine’s welcome. The first visit was a handshake, really. The second was a hug. Who knows what this year will offer. Elaine mentioned we could go there Thanksgiving Saturday.

It’s all up in the air, and anything could happen. Wednesday I will be in the belly of the fruit stand again. In August, Yancy mentioned my visits to the belly of the fruit stand would be reduced. It seems that I have been going to the fruit stand at least once a week. Not a real reduction if you ask me.

I just got off the phone with Yancy, and I asked him about this Wednesday, and he replied it would be good since he has errands to run that day and an extra set of hands could only help. I have gotten better at accepting the visits to the belly of the fruit stand, though overall I would rather be where I am most of the time.

I definitely need to get an eye exam because I really need a new pair of glasses. It’s getting bad. The damned Warby Parker spectacles have been scratched through no fault of my own. I need to make the time because what I am going through is somewhat maddening.

Last night started in the afternoon. I left the office earlier than usual. The security guard, Kenneth, who preferred to be called Black, gave me the brother hug which was unexpected yet nice when I left the fruit stand at 2pm. I rode the Path train back, surprised to see as many people riding at midday.

Bill phoned to let me know the cabaret was starting at 7pm instead of 8pm which was a source of consternation. I was planning on heading out around 6:30 or 7;00 and this changed things. I rallied though and was waiting for the bus at the proper time. The ride in was uneventful as I sat and stared out the window.

I did not anticipate the crowds once I was on the streets. Walking up Eightth avenue was maddening. So many tourists and me, walking behind them with steam coming out of my ears and belly button. I did make it to the sheep farm where Bill was performing. The building was locked so he had to come down and let me in.

The show was earnestly entertaining. They are good people, their hearts are in the right place and mostly have been doing some type of entertainment schtick for years. Bill had angled to be set towards the end and was third in the lineup. He played piano and sang Tom Waits ‘Picture in a Frame’ which is basically ’our song’

One of the performers sang Autumn Leaves, the French original song and the English version. My memory of the song is my Mother laughing hysterically when on the Uncle FLoyd SHow, there was a fake spider playing and singing Autumn Leaves on the piano.

He amazed many of his fellow members. I was introduced to some of them and apparently they thought I was British. And I told them I was actually Irish and one insisted that I was Scottish. The first time Mike met me, he too, thought I was a Brit. I noticed that sometimes I slip into some UK accent. Perhaps it’s from watching British movies and television. Or British music. Or UK music magazines.

I was just distracted by the past. Marsh and Mcllellan how Eric Edelman strung me along thanks to his ineptitude. It was a job I was willing to low ball my salary. I passed the criminal background but they never said anything about the drug test which I failed due to studying too hard.

Then there was the Shannon O’Connor yoga hole. The first time I met her I had remarked that we could be related since I had O’Connor blood in my veins. She was nonplussed. She lived in Hoboken and one time I went out of my way and did her a favor. There was another Shannon in the office and the guys in the office differentiated between the two Shannon’s by calling the other Shannon, Pretty Shannon

I don’t think Shannon O’Connor knew, but I was offended on her behalf. She’s still around, taking the Algerian teat. I am grateful we have never crossed paths, though I do feel sorry for her