Woke up this morning with a nice gentle feeling, and Loud Mouth screaming at the manager. "She's drunk, a slut, a crackhead, AND she talked to my boss! I wanted to hit her in the face! I'm going to lose money this way! I'm going to lose my job! My boss is still talking about this!"

I stuck my head out the window, puppy-in-a-purse print pyjamas on, and said, in a sweet, contrite, tone, "I'm sorry."

Loud Mouth turned to me in horror. "Keep...keep away from me!"

"With pleasure." I said, in a nonplussed, what's-HIS-problem manner.

The manager just shook her head and chuckled. Loud Mouth got into his Pool Cleaning truck and sped off.

I've gotten to be friendly with the cleaning staff, a nice old couple who don't know too much English. They come in every day sometime between nine and eleven and vacuum and give me towels. They're nice, but picky. Nothing on the bed. Nothing on the floor. Nothing on the table. Otherwise I get a chiding from the owner's Americanized daughter. But when I do, I get smiles, high-fives (which seem weird coming from an elderly Patel woman) and extra towels. I'm thinking of taking language lessons, a word at a time.

So, I watch the news, check the weather, and phone home. Mom's better: last night her shingles kicked up and I found, to my horror, I'd lost my room key. I read a report that states that life in the French Quarter during the height of the flood was similar to life in Dhalgren: bars and churches the center of life, restaurants giving away free food, people helping each other/committing senseless crime for fun, even holding a parade for the sheer heck of it. Pretty much what you'd expect if you were going to write a novel about a disaster hitting New Orleans. I do a little stretching, put on my tank top and head off...

Worried about day after tomorrow. I don't know whether to ask for an extension of my stay. Pmail me with ideas....It has been so hard.