The highlight of my weekend was I got shit on. Not just little bird droppings, but a cascading sludge of diarrhea which seems the pigeon had been accumulating for over a period of days.
Wait. Let me back up to last Friday.
I had been feeling sick. The weather had changed from 80 degrees to 53 overnight. I awoke with a scratchy throat and sore lungs which wheezed and rasped with every intake. I felt like crap. During the day, I wrote some more in my book, walked over to Cafe 656 on Juarez Ave. for lunch, hung around the park near my house and people watched. I wanted to go out. I had a meet with Julio from the other night. I had met him waiting for the bus and he mentioned he and Luis were going to be at Bar Olympico that evening.
As the sun set over this dreary town and while I sat in the park scowling at the multitude of rentboys prowling between the trees, my illness really began to kick in. I had zero energy and returned home to rest.
I boiled me a cup of tea and simply settled in the evening to watch television. Around ten that night, I couldn't keep my eyes open and fell asleep.
The following morning, I awoke feeling horrible. I needed spicy food. I showered, dressed and tromped over to Cafe Central for some coffee and menudo. The place was crowded and since my nerves were on end, I wasn't in the mood to tolerate the orchestra of crying babies from the large family who took up five tables near me. Enough of this shit, babies need to shut the fuck up and get a job!
I paid for my breakfast, walked out and across the street to Plaza las Armas to sit in the shade, smoke a cigarette and stare at the cathedral.
It was good to be alone and collect my thoughts. As the sun heated up, I began to feel better. Until Julio walked up with some friend who introduced himself as Joaquin. After a brief chat of pleasantries, they both confessed that they were going to try to cross the border illegally that night. They obviously had family in Wisconsin and was hell bent to get there. I wished them luck and gave them a few pointers. Like I know anything about crossing borders illegally.
I said goodbye and returned home to rest. I was feeling so crappy. I slept until six in the afternoon. Bored beyond reason, I showered, dressed and headed over to Bar Olympico. Lo and behold, Julio, Luis, and Joaquin were there. We stood at the bar and talked of things, mostly on how the three - three! - where going to attempt to jump across the Rio Grande into the American Dream. Poor lost bastards.
As midnight hit, I was feeling both drunk and sick, so the three bid there farewell as I said I was going to stay and finish the bucket of beer I had bought. Priorities, people!
I drank what was left, said goodnight to a few friends and headed home. In the quiet dark of my street, as I was approaching my door, I heard someone softly call my name. I turned to see Joaquin appear out of the shadows. He stated that he had chickened out. It was too late to take the bus back home, so he asked could he either have 100 pesos for a taxi or simply stay the night and catch a bus tomorrow. Of course, I invited him to stay the night.
However, after we undressed and lay under the covers, I began to sweat and get chills. Joaquin said I was running a slight fever. I lay on my bed curled in a fetal position, shivering and sweating under the blanket as Joaquin lay spooning behind. His thin arm drapped around my chest as he casually stroked my sweat drenched head.
The following morning, I felt a little better. I invited Joaquin to breakfast at a restaurant called El Meson across the street from my apartment. As we sat drinking coffee and nibbling eggs and chiliquilas, Joaquin went all gooey and stated that he wanted a relationship. I said no can do. At the first of May, I am jumping to Tucson to save money for my move to Puerto Rico. He dramatically stated that I should stay in Juarez and be with him blah blah blah...
I walked him to his bus top and shook hands goodbye. Why is it every time I am about to move on account of I am completely bored, lonely, or pissed of at my current residency, some over-heated, romantic waif wants to start a relationship? Oh well. I simply shrugged the matter off and returned sniffling and coughing back home. I know, I should had taken Joaquin up on his offer, give Juarez more time, but I believe in fate and karma. I continuously watch for signs and signals from the Powers That Be and act on them accordingly.
Oh, did I mention that a bird shit on me as I walked home?