My Daily Quota.

French Quarter.  

French Quarter.  

 Part of my job description is to spend some time indulging in what this next generation of young people want to do with their life. 99% of the time I'm traveling around the country to hear their stories. As such, my most recent recruiting trip landed me in the beautiful city of New Orleans. A place enriched with culture, cobblestone streets and beignets so good you would consider it a sin to eat anything else.

 

It wasn't until I stumbled across a no named stranger in the French Quarter that I felt like I was in the right direction. I found the anonymous street Guru strumming a very loud and yet very poetic melody coming from his very cool looking guitar. The vengeance in his voice could be heard up and down Royal street. Upon further investigation, I discovered a gentle, cowering guy just out doing his job.

 

The two of us engaged in casual conversation after I snapped a few shots. Either it was giving his angry tunes or I simply got lost walking that night, but we managed to sit down a couple more times that evening. At one point, this young man stopped playing to enjoy the taste of his drink. He asked where I was from. I'm always one to be a little reluctant to admit I'm from Columbus, Ohio. This guy had been to Columbus before. He went ahead and explained his experience as "I was robbed by a couple crackheads". Blown by his brief description of his trip I reached in my pocket to retrieve some money for the homie. He extends his hand to reject my generosity as he explains that all he needed was enough money for a bite to eat and pay rent. I asked him is there anything else he needed and he mumbles as he gazes off into the distance, "I made my quota for the day.”