Staring out across the night sky in this wicked city of lights and wondering what it all means. Just another lost soul who fled south for the winter. I got a call that a childhood friend had a child.
A girl I have known since I was five has a child.
In a few years, the baby will be the same age as we were when we first met. What does that mean? Are we no longer the current generation? Are we a generation ahead? Whatever the meaning, right now, it feels like the party is over.
What a sick notion on this warm October night, just hours after I saw Esto Es Todo -- Michael Jackson's This Is It.
I have spent my life searching for new beginnings, but now I feel like I am watching too many endings.
What kind of shit is this? I have been locked in this bed with a vicious fever for too long. I am becoming delirious. Maybe another sip from this deep bottle of Mezcal with soothe the burn.
I have melted into the seat and there is a row of ashes surrounding me. Dizzy talk at 3 a.m., but I have no real desire to come back to reality. Just get over this sickness. Do some lines and hop on the midnite express.
Eventually I am going to have to head back down the stairs for another glass of water. Ignore the delirium. Ride the wave.
Friday, October 30, 2009
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Down and out at the congal
It has not been easy to look in the mirror these last few days. My skin is pale and flaky, my eyes are sunken in from dehydration and the light stings when I flip the switch.
These are side effects of the terrible Typhoid Fever I have been fighting for just over a week now. Dizzyness and fits of bulemia are not uncommon. I spend most of the days in bed watching the sopranos and trying to figure out some kind of plan for when I get home.
So it was to my suprise, Wednesday night, when Juan popped into the room with a bag of coke and suggested we go to the strip club.
"Shit," I thought. "It beats lying here."
We were up and about in less than 30 minutes, our heads spinning with excitement.
We raced out the door into the car and down the street to some upscale place called Fiesta Charra VIP.
When we walked in, we were the only ones there, save some burnt-out looking dancers in the corner, sipping orange juice through a straw.
"Where is everyone!?" I exclaimed.
"Calm down," said Juan. "It's 8 o' clock on a Wednesday evening."
Ah, that's right. Sit down and enjoy the music. Feel the vibes. Fight the urge to leave.
Now. I cannot drink alcohol or soda or eat most foods right now, so I knew there was only one option.
I waved my hand at an obese stripper in the corner, who glided over on high heels and took a seat on my lap.
"Ready for some fun," she said.
"Fun?"
I stood up abruptly and she tumbled ot the floor.
I was in no mood for fun.
Juan grabbed me by my shirt and thrust me into my seat.
"Don't make so much noise," he said.
Suddenly, a strange looking old woman approached. She had the eyes of an eagle and the lips of a hippo. She spoke softly. My eyes went wide.
To be continued...
These are side effects of the terrible Typhoid Fever I have been fighting for just over a week now. Dizzyness and fits of bulemia are not uncommon. I spend most of the days in bed watching the sopranos and trying to figure out some kind of plan for when I get home.
So it was to my suprise, Wednesday night, when Juan popped into the room with a bag of coke and suggested we go to the strip club.
"Shit," I thought. "It beats lying here."
We were up and about in less than 30 minutes, our heads spinning with excitement.
We raced out the door into the car and down the street to some upscale place called Fiesta Charra VIP.
When we walked in, we were the only ones there, save some burnt-out looking dancers in the corner, sipping orange juice through a straw.
"Where is everyone!?" I exclaimed.
"Calm down," said Juan. "It's 8 o' clock on a Wednesday evening."
Ah, that's right. Sit down and enjoy the music. Feel the vibes. Fight the urge to leave.
Now. I cannot drink alcohol or soda or eat most foods right now, so I knew there was only one option.
I waved my hand at an obese stripper in the corner, who glided over on high heels and took a seat on my lap.
"Ready for some fun," she said.
"Fun?"
I stood up abruptly and she tumbled ot the floor.
I was in no mood for fun.
Juan grabbed me by my shirt and thrust me into my seat.
"Don't make so much noise," he said.
Suddenly, a strange looking old woman approached. She had the eyes of an eagle and the lips of a hippo. She spoke softly. My eyes went wide.
To be continued...
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Friday, October 23, 2009
Typhoid Madness
Yes, it's true. I have contracted typhoid fever and am coming home as soon as my treatment ends. No joke. The adventure is over. The phoenix has smoldered and plummeted into the ashes. I spent the better part of Friday in some seedy hospital with an IV plugged into my arm, watching bugs crawl aimlessless on the walls.
It was terrible, but not as bad as the bouts of sickness I have been feeling for the past several days. I thought it was the flu and would pass rapidly, but apparently it was more.
Laying in the dirty hospital bed for hours led me into some deep introspective reflection which I neither wanted nor needed. I have not eaten for three days, and am reduced to a diet of jello and bread, says the doctor.
Blink, wash this all away. What am I doing here in this clinic, with light flickering on and off. There is some urine-colored medicine being pumped into my body, one drip at a time.
Drip, drip, drip.
How long have I been here. I need to go.
The nurse comes in every few minutes and injects something new into the solution. My left arm feels cold.
Drip, drip, drip
An earwig has fallen off the light and landed on my pants, crawling up toward my face. I can't move to flick it away. Bugs everywhere.
"By the way, no cheese or dairy," says the doctor.
While I am here, Juan's doberman is in a nearby hospital, getting it's ears cut short.
"Are you sure it's typhoid, isn't that rare," I mumble.
"Not really," he said.
How did I get here?
It was terrible, but not as bad as the bouts of sickness I have been feeling for the past several days. I thought it was the flu and would pass rapidly, but apparently it was more.
Laying in the dirty hospital bed for hours led me into some deep introspective reflection which I neither wanted nor needed. I have not eaten for three days, and am reduced to a diet of jello and bread, says the doctor.
Blink, wash this all away. What am I doing here in this clinic, with light flickering on and off. There is some urine-colored medicine being pumped into my body, one drip at a time.
Drip, drip, drip.
How long have I been here. I need to go.
The nurse comes in every few minutes and injects something new into the solution. My left arm feels cold.
Drip, drip, drip
An earwig has fallen off the light and landed on my pants, crawling up toward my face. I can't move to flick it away. Bugs everywhere.
"By the way, no cheese or dairy," says the doctor.
While I am here, Juan's doberman is in a nearby hospital, getting it's ears cut short.
"Are you sure it's typhoid, isn't that rare," I mumble.
"Not really," he said.
Several hours of this shit. The doctor pops in every few minutes. I am feeling light-headed. Trying to avoid passing out.
Drip, drip, drip, drip, drip.
How much longer in this place. The lights are off, and there is no TV or any sign of life. Absolute silence.
Suddenly, music comes over what sound like loudspeakers. Some wierd country long.
"This liiiife. This Loooove."
What the fuck?
Then No Doubt, and finally John Lennon . Am I imagining this?
Let it be. Let it beeeeee.
Darkness.
Now, a day later I am drinking bottles of Electrolit Rehydrant and reflecting on everything that has come to pass thus far.How did I get here?
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Drunk in Mexico City
So much craziness in Mexico city. There is no way to explain it without over-indulging.
My eyes were burning and my nose was filled with cocaine, but there were plenty of beautiful women to go around.
Sometimes, if you pay close attention, you will understand what is going on, and accept it. I have learned from living in Mexico, that sometimes you have to "go with the flow". We were drinking bottles of Absinthe (with wormwood) and begging to be released. But there was no mercy. There was only this exclusive after-hours club, which cost us 25 pesos. Dirt-cheap in my opinion, but they felt otherwise.
And why was I so angry in this picture? Probably because I was terribly sick from all the whiskey.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
lost in translation
back in town and ready to rock and roll...
3 nights in Mexico City was enough, I think, to get a perspective on what I was missing in Los Angeles.
I think I found my new love. HA! Just another lost soul swimming in this cesspool of alcohol and cigarettes. Maybe.
48 hours now, since I set foot back on dry ground, and I can still smell her perfume on my Calvin Klein pima cotton T-Shirt.
I want to know what love is..... I want you to show me.
Right?
Or maybe I dont want to know. Maybe I am not meant to. Either way, its the pedal to the metal now.
What a wierd, cryptic post this is. I just read over it, and it doesnt really make any sense.
3 nights in Mexico City was enough, I think, to get a perspective on what I was missing in Los Angeles.
I think I found my new love. HA! Just another lost soul swimming in this cesspool of alcohol and cigarettes. Maybe.
48 hours now, since I set foot back on dry ground, and I can still smell her perfume on my Calvin Klein pima cotton T-Shirt.
I want to know what love is..... I want you to show me.
Right?
Or maybe I dont want to know. Maybe I am not meant to. Either way, its the pedal to the metal now.
What a wierd, cryptic post this is. I just read over it, and it doesnt really make any sense.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Reflections on life and soccer
Late afternoon on a warm Thursday and I am trying to make sense of the rest of this trip. How to make the most of my dwindling monetary resources and still claim the essence of my journey.
Where are you?
Strange noises from a monestary far away. But maybe not that far. Children running rampant in the street and hundreds of happy drunks singing under the palm trees.
One big leap into the mist.
............................
Mescal drinking in the dark. Note to self: soccer is more important in other countries. Never cry wolf about the game.
Case in point:
Juan was taking a shower Wednesday afternoon, while I was watching the game of Mexico vs. Trinidad y Tobago.
I decided to spice things up. A little practical joke won't hurt, I thought.
"Gooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooool!!!!!!"
I yelled through the house, knowing that Juan would be jealous he missed the shot.
"Who?!" Juan yelled from the shower.
"Mexico."
Juan came running ass-naked down the steps, dripping water into the living room, and peered at the TV.
"What goal???" he yelled.
"Oh, um. just a joke."
"You never joke a Mexican about futbol," he said as he walked back upstairs. I never will again.
Where are you?
Strange noises from a monestary far away. But maybe not that far. Children running rampant in the street and hundreds of happy drunks singing under the palm trees.
One big leap into the mist.
............................
Mescal drinking in the dark. Note to self: soccer is more important in other countries. Never cry wolf about the game.
Case in point:
Juan was taking a shower Wednesday afternoon, while I was watching the game of Mexico vs. Trinidad y Tobago.
I decided to spice things up. A little practical joke won't hurt, I thought.
"Gooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooool!!!!!!"
I yelled through the house, knowing that Juan would be jealous he missed the shot.
"Who?!" Juan yelled from the shower.
"Mexico."
Juan came running ass-naked down the steps, dripping water into the living room, and peered at the TV.
"What goal???" he yelled.
"Oh, um. just a joke."
"You never joke a Mexican about futbol," he said as he walked back upstairs. I never will again.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Let Freedom Ring
Zacatecas was crazy as shit.
6 hours on a rusty bus watching the rain streak across the dirt-caked windows on the Primera-Plus busline that I was riding. A lot of rain moving fast across the sky and all I can see is the greenery outside and the decaying buildings as I cruise slowly through the cities of San Luis and Aguas Calientes and all the little towns.
Whats that?
A..... McTaco??
Ha! Remind me to eat there on the way back. Keep reading this new Dan Brown novel and forget about the nonsense outside.
I think the great seperater between the first and third world is a heavy-handed regulation of city codes and building maintenance upkeep.
The graffitti problem here is bad, and no one ever really cleans it up. On the way through San Luis I saw faded scrawling on a wall that read "LOVE '86" .
It was wierd and cryptic and old and in english. But what really struck me was the fact that that building had not been repainted since I was 4 years old.
But then again, what is the price of well-maintained buildings? How many of our liberties have we given up in the US for a clean landscape?
It is going to take some getting used to before I can peacefully deal with the fact that perhaps you cannot walk down the street and peddle fruit to passersby.. That I will again have to wash my own windows.. That people will stop being friendly when I enter the local store.
There is a lot to learn living abroad, and even with our new president, the attitude toward Americans has not improved much.
Maybe I can flee to Cuba.
6 hours on a rusty bus watching the rain streak across the dirt-caked windows on the Primera-Plus busline that I was riding. A lot of rain moving fast across the sky and all I can see is the greenery outside and the decaying buildings as I cruise slowly through the cities of San Luis and Aguas Calientes and all the little towns.
Whats that?
A..... McTaco??
Ha! Remind me to eat there on the way back. Keep reading this new Dan Brown novel and forget about the nonsense outside.
I think the great seperater between the first and third world is a heavy-handed regulation of city codes and building maintenance upkeep.
The graffitti problem here is bad, and no one ever really cleans it up. On the way through San Luis I saw faded scrawling on a wall that read "LOVE '86" .
It was wierd and cryptic and old and in english. But what really struck me was the fact that that building had not been repainted since I was 4 years old.
But then again, what is the price of well-maintained buildings? How many of our liberties have we given up in the US for a clean landscape?
It is going to take some getting used to before I can peacefully deal with the fact that perhaps you cannot walk down the street and peddle fruit to passersby.. That I will again have to wash my own windows.. That people will stop being friendly when I enter the local store.
There is a lot to learn living abroad, and even with our new president, the attitude toward Americans has not improved much.
Maybe I can flee to Cuba.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Zacatecas
The secret to escaping the wrath of these mosquitos is to sleep in your clothes and burrow deep under you covers at night and never let them get your scent.
Ah and here is the catch. It is sweltering hot in this house and the humidity is through the roof, so you want to strip naked and lay on the floor with no covers at all.
This is how Juan does it. I just passed by his room and saw him laying in his drawers on the tile floor of his adjacent room.
No one can escape the bugs in this heat.
Even though it is pouring rain outside.
What a strange climate.
I leave for Zacatecas tomorrow. Apparently I am staying in a youth hostel. Wtf! I have never been to one of these before and have no idea what to expect.
Zacatecas has been in the works for months, and Im not entirely sure what to expect.
I tried to book a bus ride on the ETN bus service, a top grade travel landcruising line with kosher meals, clean bathrooms, and strippers.
Instead, Juan and I stepped into Elecktra and booked me a ride on some shitty two-bit bus line where I, so far, am the only one who booked.
what was that? a shiver of fear. Ha HA! not from me. i will go naked into the night. there is no bus that i will not ride.
Ah and here is the catch. It is sweltering hot in this house and the humidity is through the roof, so you want to strip naked and lay on the floor with no covers at all.
This is how Juan does it. I just passed by his room and saw him laying in his drawers on the tile floor of his adjacent room.
No one can escape the bugs in this heat.
Even though it is pouring rain outside.
What a strange climate.
I leave for Zacatecas tomorrow. Apparently I am staying in a youth hostel. Wtf! I have never been to one of these before and have no idea what to expect.
Zacatecas has been in the works for months, and Im not entirely sure what to expect.
I tried to book a bus ride on the ETN bus service, a top grade travel landcruising line with kosher meals, clean bathrooms, and strippers.
Instead, Juan and I stepped into Elecktra and booked me a ride on some shitty two-bit bus line where I, so far, am the only one who booked.
what was that? a shiver of fear. Ha HA! not from me. i will go naked into the night. there is no bus that i will not ride.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
The cold air from this fan is becoming uncomfortable on my chest, but it is far too hot to put on a blanket.
The mosquitoes have lined up at my door. I am an all-you-can-eat buffet for them. I am trying to wolf down the rest of this extravaganza pizza that I just bought, but the chimi churi hot sauce has been squirted all over my bedspread.
I have to meet up with some girl at the mall tomorrow, but I forgot where she works. This is going to be fun.
All my clothes are at the laundrymat, so I am going to have to borrow Juan's raggedy wifebeater and tight blue shorts to go to the mall. I am going to look wierd This, I know.
Last night we took off to the gym but Juan left the keys in the house and I tried to sneak in through the roof, climbing through the bathroom window. But it was about 15 feet off the ground.
Locksmiths had to break into the house, and it took them nearly 20 minutes. It cost us about 400 pesos :(
Finishing off this limon Ciel and planning for tomorrow.
The mosquitoes have lined up at my door. I am an all-you-can-eat buffet for them. I am trying to wolf down the rest of this extravaganza pizza that I just bought, but the chimi churi hot sauce has been squirted all over my bedspread.
I have to meet up with some girl at the mall tomorrow, but I forgot where she works. This is going to be fun.
All my clothes are at the laundrymat, so I am going to have to borrow Juan's raggedy wifebeater and tight blue shorts to go to the mall. I am going to look wierd This, I know.
Last night we took off to the gym but Juan left the keys in the house and I tried to sneak in through the roof, climbing through the bathroom window. But it was about 15 feet off the ground.
Locksmiths had to break into the house, and it took them nearly 20 minutes. It cost us about 400 pesos :(
Finishing off this limon Ciel and planning for tomorrow.
Friday, October 2, 2009
Puta la verga
Sitting now. Watching the fucking FIFA World cup for the 23rd time. Not even the actual live event -- the xbox version.
A cold chill cruises through the room, courtesy of the swamp cooler sitting outside in the hallway. My throat is still burning from the habanero sauce I mixed with the michelada and clamato before pouring a cool thin can of Corona Extra -- the kind they only have in small liquor stores in Mexico.
Everybody loves a drunk.
How many people are sitting alone on this warm Friday evening? How many are out running the streets? What am I doing.
Pop this fucking valium. Drift away to a better place. Find peace on this comfortable wooden desk drawer that I am sitting on because there are no more chairs.
15 minutes pass.
20 minutes.
My ass starts to melt over the seat like a molting marshmellow. Extreme comfort. Valium moves through you so smoothly you don't even know its happening. Its like a lot of drugs. Your conciousness alters slowly and without any sharp signs. Its not like you just sit up and your muscles suddenly droop and you fall to the floor in a pile of relaxation.
Cuando uso valium, penetra en tu cuerpo muy lento. Pensando horita. Necesito tener control otra vez. Calma. Calma palma. Relajate. Pensar claro.
Juan esta jugando su juego como un adicto de drogas. Esta loca chica esta ensenadome espanol.
Smoking now. Reefer. Dope. Crack. Coke. Mescaline. It doesn't matter. I am against drugs. Always have been. Always will be.
Back to basics.
Back to square one. I was never instructed how to write in spanish. A la bestia, a la puta.
Conyo.
Too comfortable in this seat. The world is drifting away slowly. sllllllllllllllllllooooooooooooooooooooowwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwlllllllllllllllllyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy.
sllllllllllllllll,m
Wake up.
Back to the Fifa world cup. Does anyone in this room know what is happening. Does anyone notice I'm drifting off here.
Too involved in the game.
Futbol is an international pasttime, except in the U.S. But I can bend it like Beckham. I can do it with the best of them. A la puta, no te cagaste.
So many screams spilling out of the night sky. This imaginary soccer game. The luke-warm wind of the swamp cooler. It must be running out of water. Eyes drooping.
This seat is so comfortable. the curves of the drawer are melting beneath me. Or am I melting over it.
How long has it been since I took this fukking pill. I should have broke it in half.
Sleepy now. Finally.
A cold chill cruises through the room, courtesy of the swamp cooler sitting outside in the hallway. My throat is still burning from the habanero sauce I mixed with the michelada and clamato before pouring a cool thin can of Corona Extra -- the kind they only have in small liquor stores in Mexico.
Everybody loves a drunk.
How many people are sitting alone on this warm Friday evening? How many are out running the streets? What am I doing.
Pop this fucking valium. Drift away to a better place. Find peace on this comfortable wooden desk drawer that I am sitting on because there are no more chairs.
15 minutes pass.
20 minutes.
My ass starts to melt over the seat like a molting marshmellow. Extreme comfort. Valium moves through you so smoothly you don't even know its happening. Its like a lot of drugs. Your conciousness alters slowly and without any sharp signs. Its not like you just sit up and your muscles suddenly droop and you fall to the floor in a pile of relaxation.
Cuando uso valium, penetra en tu cuerpo muy lento. Pensando horita. Necesito tener control otra vez. Calma. Calma palma. Relajate. Pensar claro.
Juan esta jugando su juego como un adicto de drogas. Esta loca chica esta ensenadome espanol.
Smoking now. Reefer. Dope. Crack. Coke. Mescaline. It doesn't matter. I am against drugs. Always have been. Always will be.
Back to basics.
Back to square one. I was never instructed how to write in spanish. A la bestia, a la puta.
Conyo.
Too comfortable in this seat. The world is drifting away slowly. sllllllllllllllllllooooooooooooooooooooowwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwlllllllllllllllllyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy.
sllllllllllllllll,m
Wake up.
Back to the Fifa world cup. Does anyone in this room know what is happening. Does anyone notice I'm drifting off here.
Too involved in the game.
Futbol is an international pasttime, except in the U.S. But I can bend it like Beckham. I can do it with the best of them. A la puta, no te cagaste.
So many screams spilling out of the night sky. This imaginary soccer game. The luke-warm wind of the swamp cooler. It must be running out of water. Eyes drooping.
This seat is so comfortable. the curves of the drawer are melting beneath me. Or am I melting over it.
How long has it been since I took this fukking pill. I should have broke it in half.
Sleepy now. Finally.
A day in the life...
I was sitting along the curb outside my little apartment on Calle Limones, sipping on a semi-chilled bottle of lime-flavored Ciel+ and listening to the banda music blaring in the background when the two men showed up at my door.
They were wearing black and red suits with walkie talkies and utility belts and sunglasses, and they were not smiling.
There I was, wearing a pair of blue shorts with a floral pattern and no shirt and drinking this 80-cent beverage outside an apartment in the projects area of this city and they must have thought I was some kind of raving lunatic.
All the gringos live uptown, they probably thought. What is this weird fuck doing out here? Should we beat him on principle?
So I’m sitting and sipping and thinking and they are walking up to me and the first one asks me how I am doing. I smile a great big one and keep sipping my drink.
He turns to the other man and now they are both staring at me and I am gazing at the girl in the white shorts across the street playing with the hose.
“We need to come in,” the second man says. “There is an inspection due here. Open the door.”
I take another sip of my drink and grab the keys off the floor next to me. There is an ant hole beneath me and giant fucking bugs are crawling around on my legs and I don’t even swat them off. I open the door and they step inside and Juan is inside smoking reefer and he jumps from his seat and spills his Negra Modelo all over the floor. Juan starts cursing in Spanish loudly, and I see the men walking to him as he douses the joint in the spilled alcohol, and I am still here staring at the gal across the street and wondering if she wants to come over and play.
There is an argument in the house and Juan pushes the two men outside before lighting up a cigarette and throwing on his chanklas. His eyes are smiling beneath the fake Prada shades as he steps out into the sun. The girl with the hose is looking at us now.
I smile and wave.
The two men in suits are yelling something at me but I am far away. I am across the street. I am in a hotel several blocks away with this 19-year-old girl and we are trying to figure out how to pass the time.
“Vale verga,” says Juan, snapping me out of my fantasy. I am still not entirely sure what that phrase means. I look around, the two suits are still here, but the girl has gone inside. The hose is still running.
We argue with the men. There is no violation here. We are good, honest citizens. They are not cops. They are inspectors for the city, and they are visiting homes in the projects.
Earlier, two kids had come by, but I was not sure what they were doing.
The dogs are barking on the lawn at the house behind ours, and I am still sipping this delicious, unhealthy drink.
The men are telling Juan they need to check the electrical wirings.
He goes back inside and cracks open another beer, winking at me as he takes a big sip – a slap in the face to the inspectors.
A big fat woman comes over to the house selling bread. She is wearing some kind of mu-mu and pushing a cart.
We all, including the suits, buy some of the sweet bread she is selling.
We are eating and talking and arguing.
Suddenly, several minutes later, I realize the bread was sour. There is a rumbling in my stomach. As with Juan. As with the two men.
They begin asking nicely to use our restroom. There’s no need for an inspection. Just kindly let them use the restroom and they will be on their way. Juan laughs like a cow in the wind.
“Sure,” he says. “Use the restroom, then get the fuck out of here.”
And I am back on the grass, drinking and smiling and playing with the ants.
They were wearing black and red suits with walkie talkies and utility belts and sunglasses, and they were not smiling.
There I was, wearing a pair of blue shorts with a floral pattern and no shirt and drinking this 80-cent beverage outside an apartment in the projects area of this city and they must have thought I was some kind of raving lunatic.
All the gringos live uptown, they probably thought. What is this weird fuck doing out here? Should we beat him on principle?
So I’m sitting and sipping and thinking and they are walking up to me and the first one asks me how I am doing. I smile a great big one and keep sipping my drink.
He turns to the other man and now they are both staring at me and I am gazing at the girl in the white shorts across the street playing with the hose.
“We need to come in,” the second man says. “There is an inspection due here. Open the door.”
I take another sip of my drink and grab the keys off the floor next to me. There is an ant hole beneath me and giant fucking bugs are crawling around on my legs and I don’t even swat them off. I open the door and they step inside and Juan is inside smoking reefer and he jumps from his seat and spills his Negra Modelo all over the floor. Juan starts cursing in Spanish loudly, and I see the men walking to him as he douses the joint in the spilled alcohol, and I am still here staring at the gal across the street and wondering if she wants to come over and play.
There is an argument in the house and Juan pushes the two men outside before lighting up a cigarette and throwing on his chanklas. His eyes are smiling beneath the fake Prada shades as he steps out into the sun. The girl with the hose is looking at us now.
I smile and wave.
The two men in suits are yelling something at me but I am far away. I am across the street. I am in a hotel several blocks away with this 19-year-old girl and we are trying to figure out how to pass the time.
“Vale verga,” says Juan, snapping me out of my fantasy. I am still not entirely sure what that phrase means. I look around, the two suits are still here, but the girl has gone inside. The hose is still running.
We argue with the men. There is no violation here. We are good, honest citizens. They are not cops. They are inspectors for the city, and they are visiting homes in the projects.
Earlier, two kids had come by, but I was not sure what they were doing.
The dogs are barking on the lawn at the house behind ours, and I am still sipping this delicious, unhealthy drink.
The men are telling Juan they need to check the electrical wirings.
He goes back inside and cracks open another beer, winking at me as he takes a big sip – a slap in the face to the inspectors.
A big fat woman comes over to the house selling bread. She is wearing some kind of mu-mu and pushing a cart.
We all, including the suits, buy some of the sweet bread she is selling.
We are eating and talking and arguing.
Suddenly, several minutes later, I realize the bread was sour. There is a rumbling in my stomach. As with Juan. As with the two men.
They begin asking nicely to use our restroom. There’s no need for an inspection. Just kindly let them use the restroom and they will be on their way. Juan laughs like a cow in the wind.
“Sure,” he says. “Use the restroom, then get the fuck out of here.”
And I am back on the grass, drinking and smiling and playing with the ants.
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