Free Harry Gordon- Telepath

My way to Marfa via Austin wasn't hurried, not much of my life is. I stopped in New Orleans for a few days. I stayed in the seedy India House, a hostel with some single rooms. I stayed in a single room. I was traveling solo. I think I was getting over some romantic detour. I don't remember specifics. I just remember that being the situation. I went out by myself sitting at Molly's in the Quarter. I haven't been there in about three years, but they had a great jukebox. As I sat there drinking my beer staring into space, a young woman asked me if I would buy her and her girlfriend (in the romantic sense) one beer between the two of them. I bought them both a beer. I had some sort of feeling that this wasn't their everyday routine. We hung out all night and ended up sharing a plate of hashbrowns at the Clover Grill around 4AM. The next afternoon the ladies came by the India House and took me to lunch.

After I bought the women their beer, they led me from the bar to a table by the front window. I was introduced to several locals. While I was in the middle of conversation and introductions, I noticed a very old man glaring at me from the bar, at least it looked like he was glaring at me, it became apparent soon. He shuffled very very slowly over to me. When he reached me he said faintly in what sounded like an old Brando, "I know you, you know me." I said. "I don't live here." "You know me, I know you." "I don't live here. I don't know anyone." "You know me. I know you." He stared at me and shuffled back to his barstool. Everyone at the table looked at me, in a what was that sort of way. I told them it didn't make sense to me. I looked back at the man. He looked at me with some contempt as my tablemates laughed. After a few minutes the man shuffled back to our table. The routine was repeated. His voice more powerful, but still barely audible. He shuffled back to his stool when I reiterated that I've never seen him. He had a look of hate as he stared at me from his stool. About three minutes later he returned. His shuffle was almost painful to watch. I was feeling uncomfortable, annoyed, empathetic and entertained. He repeated his you know me thing. I repeated my, I don't know you. Then he stopped looking me in the eye and said, "You don't remember this?" He started to move his arthritic body with an emphasis on his hips, he was gyrating, his movements sexual. "I'm sorry it doesn't ring a bell." He looked at me with disgust and went back to the bar. I headed to the Clover Grill with my new friends.

Earlier that day I was walking by the courthouse. I saw an old man (not the hip gyrating guy), who looked like a prophet. He was holding up a sign that said. Free Harry Gordon- Telepath.