As of this writing, all is well. I am settling into my new digs comfortably. Of course the inner responsible me is screaming "What did you do, you asshole?!" But, I never listen to that bitter, judgemental bitch anyway. I mean, really? Why should I?
Yesterday, I went to San Diego to purchase a P.O. Box for various reasons. The two years gone - everything seemed so alien upon my return. I can't put my finger on it. Again, it will take some time to assimilate back into this hurly-burly lifestyle. You tend to lose track of the world of the living when you are stuck in the anti-life that is El Paso, Texas.
A note of sadness - I was appalled to find out that a good friend of mine was murdered in my absence. His name was Daniel - you long time readers or just the ones that have been keeping tabs on this shit that I write, might remember that he was the young bartender who worked at Bar D. F. and was a cook at the Patio Bar/Cafe. It appears that the occurrence was straight out of a Mexican novela. He had become smitten with a young girl whose father had ties with the local cartel here, some how he pissed the father off and was executed. And, so it goes, Mr. Pilgrim.
My room mate, Paco, who so graciously let me rent a room in his house is being the perfect roommate - caring and respectful. A handsome, Mexican nerd who - when he is not working - is glued to his computer since getting internet installed two days prior.
Now, comes the big question on my behalf - do I go all out and live a fun-filled life of debauchery, swimming in all the carnal fruits that this city has to offer? Or do I use the accumulated patience and knowledge of retirement and just relax and continue to write more books? How the fuck should I know, Dear Reader? I'm making this shit up as I go along - it's more fun that way. But, true to form, I will continue to submit full reports on whatever fate flings into my face.