Giant Robots and Kung Fu Hookers.

Last night my friend Alfredo and I went to the flicks and saw Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow. It was really great! Any movie that has an army of giant robots marching through New York City shooting laser beams from their eyes is okay by me! I can't wait for the DVD.
Afterward, we went to a real swanky restaurant and had some birria and tacos. All was going well until a big grey rat ran across the dining room floor. The waitress thought it was funny. So did I.
Alfredo and I decided to hit every dive bar in the Red Light Zone in downtown. The plan was that we would stop in a bar, order a shot of tequila each, down it, and then move on to the next bar. After the thirteenth or fourteenth bar, we were both tore up from the floor up, cabron!
 We stumbled down the street bumping into cholos, stepping on dogs, harassing the tourist. I babbled on and on about a comic book idea I had that combined Buck Rogers with Chinese chop sockey movies.
Alfredo, being the tall, dark, and cute bi-sex guy that he is, dipped into a whore house without letting me know. I stumbled down the sidewalk a few feet, going on about Martians and soccer when the hookers on the corner began yelling and whistling to get my attention. I turned around and they yelled that my friend had gone inside their house of illrepuke.
I jutted my head in the door, saw the long filthy hallway of doorways and shouted in Spanish, "Hey, Alfredo! You in here?"
My nose wrinkled at the pungent smell of used and stale unwashed pussy.
Alfredo yelled back that he'd be out in a minute, so I drunkenly sat on the curb outside with two unfortunate-looking prostitutes. They asked if I'd like to go inside and join my friend, but my bi-sex salad days are over, plus I was so drunk I wasn't in the condition.
Anyhoo, I interviewed the girls, and asked them questions about if they liked their jobs, did it pay well, how was the pay. All of their answers were quite positive. One fugly one gleamed about how she loved fucking young American boys. All righty then.
At that moment, a carload of young Mexican guys, about six, pulled up next to the girls. They started bargaining for prices...how much for this, what about that...when one cholo popped out from the back seat and asked, "Hey, how much for the white boy?"
I smiled and said, "Twenty pesos."
Everyone laughed and the car took off. At that moment, Alfredo stumbled out of the building buttoning his jeans.
Later that night, as we lay in bed naked passing a joint and listening to Johnny Cash we exchanged stories that would later fade into antidotes.