Epiphany.

I will be receiving my tax return check. It will be an obscene amount of money. What to do? What to do?! I stand on a cactus-covered hill, hands upon my hips, sunglasses deflecting the red setting sun, khaki shirt and pants, cigarette jutting out between my teeth. My favorite red baseball cap turned sexily backward. My roving eye moves west...I could return to Tijuana and live a life of delightful perversity. I could go north and bask in the razzle-dazzle of Las Vegas, living an existence of pure decadence. Or I could stay in Tucson and settle down with an apartment, a steady job, a boyfriend, and a rut. What to do, Fair Reader, what to do? Open to suggestions.
Plus, I am really horny and there is no way to outlet. David is at work doing construction and the general population is fairly unattractive. Again, open to suggestions.
Yup, pretty damn horny.

Tucson trepidations.

Was enjoying an afternoon of Dillinger Days here in Old Tucson. It is a block party where they close off the main drag and have a great big wingding. Celebrating the capture and death of that old gangster John Dillinger. The street was lined with candy-colored cars from the 1910s and 1920s. Various people walked about in period clothes of the 1930s. There was a stage where Mariachi's wailed and Aztec costumed dancers danced and I felt the nostalgic pang of Mexico. One young Mariachi had pants on so tight it didn't leave much to the imagination. So, Tucson’s citizens milled around under the bright white afternoon sun checking out the vintage cars and I checked out the strolling guys.
Two facts about Tucson come to mind:
It is a lesbian mecca. Strolling down 4th Avenue, Tucson's equivalent to Hillcrest or West Hollywood, or Castro Street, I was surprised at the amount of frumpy boot-wearing flannelled lesbians that clomped around the street. Almost all the cafes, bookstores, and vendors were teeming with these stubby-mulleted denizens. I was filled with a sense of imposing dread. This is definitely a lezbo-controlled community. My caseworker at Primavera is a sinister man loathing dyke and she has it out for me.
Second thing. Taking the bus to and fro I have noticed that the general population has no fashion sense whatsoever. Almost everyone looks like a transient or deranged Vietnam vet. Every bus line I have taken at least once a drunken Indian has gotten on and luck would have it always sat with me, "I hate fucking white people!" One hissed halitosis and beer into my appalled face. When I first arrived in this town I always felt overdressed and self-concerned. I still do. These people can use some tips from the Fashionatrix.
Well, so there I sat, staring at that Mariachi's impressive crotch, gobbling down a huge carne asada burrito, when I heard, "Hey, white boy."
That voice. That accented baritone voice. I recognized it immediately.
David Miranda.
About five years ago...maybe four...I stopped in Tucson on my way from Las Vegas to El Paso. In front of the public library, I met this Mexican guy who had just crossed over from the border. We hit it off pretty well. He stayed with me in my room in the Hotel Congress during the two weeks I was in Tucson. Six feet two, light-colored skin, wavy brown hair, and those beautiful green eyes! I melt every time he looks at me and flashes that heart-stopping smile. Unfortunately, I was returning to Mexico, so I had to bid him farewell.
So, flash forward, and there he was. Standing in front of me and he looked as handsome as ever. After a half hour of swapping what had happened since stories, I told David that I decided to live in Tucson until further notice and he went completely ape shit. He was so happy that we spent the rest of the day hanging out on 4th Avenue visiting shops, eating dinner, and talking about sweet and funny things. I confided in him that I resided at Primavera, but since I was employed, I was going to rent an apartment on the first of February. He smiled and whispered in my ear how he wanted to break in the new apartment. My cock snapped to attention.
I felt so good. So alive. It was really great to see David again. I think this Tucson thing just might work out after all.

Down.

I am so sad. I cannot connect with anyone. The loneliness eats away at me like a stomach full of maggots. Everyone here is so odd and I can't relate. Like polarized magnets. I want to go home. Hrumph...home? I have no home. For ten years I've had no home. For ten years I have floated on an unhealthy current unable to find a safe harbor. I feel like I am in a diving bell, hitting the bottom of a black sea...cables severed.

My only course of action is to write my way out.

Tacos and bullets.

I have found that the south side of Tucson is quite the gangland. Decided to visit a shabby one-dollar movie theater that was hip enough to screen The Motorcycle Diaries. This particular cinematic opus has eluded me for some time and I decided it was time for me to check it out.
The southside of Tucson is a rotting museum of 1930s concrete blockhouses and rows of bars that cater to drunken Indians that stumble out waving away the phantoms of bygone cowboys. Cholo boys in Fubu and Dickies pimp walk side by side whistling at the fifteen-year-old mothers that float from dollar store to dollar store with the sad look of a wounded gazelle. Bloated Mexican migrant workers gobble mouthwatering tacos prepared from homespun shops shaded by phallic-shaped cacti under the blazing glare of the afternoon sun.
Walking from the Laos Bus terminal, home of hip hustlers and frazzled soldiers of Vietnam, red diseased eyes squint and follow me like lazy predators following the course of their prey.
Gotta light? Got change? Do you have the time? I walk silently with the sounds vibrating around in my skull, ignoring the outstretched palms. Young Mexican Fag crosses my path with cell phone to his ear, his eyes burn into my own with silent screams of broken lust.
I find said movie house and spend the next two hours in dark bliss. The movie is pure genius. The direction, the cinematography, and the acting; are all perfect. I leave saddened...it makes me homesick for Mexico. Exiting the theater, the twilight stars are beginning to twinkle in the swath of navy blue desert sky. Have not stopped to watch the stars in eons. I find a park with concrete benches and I rest, looking toward the heavens. God is so cool to create so much beauty.
Across the park, teenage boys play futbol, not football mind you, but what the yanks call soccer. I watch, dreaming of joining them. There is one kid, has to be sixteen, or seventeen, with dark curly hair draped across savage wild dog eyes, fantasizing of asking him to a hotel. Lean brown torso turns to light a cigarette as my pale hand glides across his ribs in the shabby twenty-dollar rented room. Enough of this!, I think, and I walk over to a taco stand and order three carne asada's with a Dr. Pepper.
Tough brute with blue-inked words covering shaved head; 13, 69, Tucson, others I can't make out asks if the tacos are any good. Muscle-bloated arms hang from a dirty wife-beater, track marks and prison tattoos crisscross rock-hard torso. Gold Guadalupe hangs from a thick chest.
"Yes," I say, looking up into his brown eyes that have seen a lot of death and tragedy. There were sparks in those dark eyes; far down and deep.
We stand by his green Toyota truck and have a casual conversation about crime, prison, and drugs. He much amused at my tales from Mexico. He showed me the bullet holes in the side of his truck from police chase a week prior. Seemed to pistol-whipped a former friend in front of his house, said friend was caught in fellatio with his novia, cops didn't take to well to his action of justice. Guess it's wrong to eat your buddy's pussy, in certain circles.
After joking about masturbating in front of his C.O. and three more tacos, he announces that he has to go home to the "Lady" and gives me his cell phone number. "Yeah." He says flopping into his truck. "Gimme a call and we can hook up sometime." Smiles. Thick pierced tongue glides across bottom lip. The grind of gravel and I watch as he pulls away.
I walk through the cooling darkness and return to Primavera.

Punk.

You know, I decided to stay here in Tucson because I was afraid to go back to Tijuana and return to that black and lascivious life. However, I concluded that it wasn't the city. It is me. I am cursed to walk this planet and live a volatile existence.
Case in point...no...no, you don't want to hear this, do you? I mean, I do other things. Go to the library...hang out in the mall...see movies. There is more to me than being the world’s psycho cumrag. Right? Please...am I right? You're shaking your head. Stop looking at me like I'm crazy! You don't believe me? What did you say...you...in the back, speak a little louder, please. 'Stop jabbering and get on with the story?' Cripes! Okay.
It started like just any other day...the sun was shining, the birds were twirping, clean happy children laughed and played in the park as drunken Indians and child molesters did a ballet around them. I sat there on a bench, guzzling my Dr. Pepper and eating a cream pie cookie when all of a sudden a dark and sinister shadow loomed over me. With a look of utter disgust and sheer foreboding, I gazed up to see none other than Dan Cokenhour standing over me.
I let out a hiss and said flatly, "What the fuck."
He grinned, "I'd been reading up on your blog and followed you to Tucson..."
With uncontrolled rage and unbridled fury, I was on top of him slamming my fists into his face and jaw. Flinging me off of him, Dan grabbed me by the neck and started belting me in the stomach and face. It felt as if the ground shook by the way we slammed into each other.
He kept grunting between hits, "Calm down! I wanna talk to you!"
Pop! Pop! Pop! I punched him in the face.
Whap! Whap! Whap! He took his licks on me.
I don't know where it came from, but I found a broom handle in a nearby trash can and began wailing on Dan repeatedly. I was so twisted in contempt and hate! He fell, covering his head as I swung blow after blow. His blood began to flow as a couple of Indians approached. A big Indian grabbed the stick out of my hand as the other one held me tight from behind. "Stop it! Stop it, yer gonna kill 'em!"
"That's the idea!" I hissed between clenched teeth, spewing blood.
The two Indians calmed us down and when Dan composed himself, he looked at me and said, "Look...I wanted to say I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I fucked you around like that in New York."
Choice words were said on my end. Dan told me that his Sugar Daddy’s sister showed up and caused all kind of drama and grief over the thousands of dollars Dan had swindled out of him. Dan was asked to leave.
"What the fuck do I care? You deserve that and all other bad shit that comes your way!" I retorted.
Dan sat down on the bench. "Well, you may be right about that. So, I went looking for you."
"Why?!"
"I don't know. I guess I can just relate to you. I don't know." He looked down at the ground. "Hey, I'm on my way to San Francisco...wanna go?"
I just rolled my eyes and walked away, leaving him with, "Don't cross my path again, Cokenhour, okay?"
I think I heard him say goodbye. What an asshole!
Well, I had to get this out of my system. I went to the local gas station, cleaned myself up, and walked over to this porno shop on Oracle. I must've looked a sight, all beat up with blood on my shirt. The booths in the back were sprinkled with some University students and the ever-present troll. Plugged my quarters in, took out my stiff soldier and all I have to say is Oh those glorious glory holes! You understand I believe sucking cock is the best stress reliever there is. Am I right? Whenever you're feeling blue, blow someone. It works wonders.
After a couple of hours in there, I stumbled back to Primavera. How am I going to explain this black eye and bruises!?

Two Horny Mexicans.

I like my new job just fine. My boss is real cool, and the other employees are laid back. Not at all the stress factory that I toiled away in San Diego. Already started looking for an apartment, decided to pitch my tent in the "Artist Colony" section of Tucson, near all those free thinkers and student bodies.

Yesterday afternoon, I was following some train tracks to downtown when I noticed under the shade of a tree, two Mexican guys were relaxing, sitting on discarded milk crates. Well, Momma told me never talk to strangers, but guess what? Mamma's not here. So, I took a sip of my Sobe soft drink and tried walking by, not making eye contact.

"Hey...do you have the time?"

From the blistering deserts of Tucson, to the grand and snowy peaks of the Andes, to the bustling metropolis of Rio DeJinero, and all points in between those words Hey, do you have the time? always preempts dramatic situations, ill fortune, and misguided sexual positions.

I stopped. Looked at the clock on my cell phone. "It's 4:06."

"Hey, you smoke pot?" The shorter one said, smiling. Obviously they have been indulging in the weed for the better half of the afternoon.

For the life of me, I couldn't control my actions! As if possessed by some disembodied ghost, I found myself standing under that shade and taking the well smoked joint out of the guys hand. I took a long drag as the guy who invited me over pulled up a milk crate and invited me to sit a spell.

I looked the two over. The one that offered the joint was stocky and not bad looking. He had to be about twenty five, black hairs hanging limply over full lips, smiling eyes, and black straight hair stuffed under a baseball cap. His English was pretty good. The other guy was tall and skinny and had to be in his mid-thirties. He had strong Aztec features with a thick black mustache and hardly smiled or said a word. Their clothes were well worn and obviously both didn't have a home. They also were passing back and forth a bottle of Jack, offered to me, I declined.

Talking with the two, I found out that they passed over the border from Mexico into Arizona the day before and was on their way up to Colorado. They were staying one more night and was going to ride the rails to their destination. They were amused at the fact that I had lived in Mexico for some time. Between tokes, I related some of my adventures in Tijuana, Cuidad Juarez, and Guadalajara.

I was a little concerned about smoking pot out in public, so I asked where they were sleeping tonight. They asked to stay at my house, but I told them I had roommates. So, the short guy told me that they had a room in this house and if I wanted to go there. Sure.

We walked a bit to this old, ruined house with boards covering the windows and the yellow weeds growing crazily in all directions. We slipped through a hole in the fence and entered through the back door that was surprisingly unlocked. The place was empty save for some garbage strewn here and there and I saw that their gear and blankets made up a corner of the graffiti covered living room. It smelt of mold and urine.

Entering, I heard a click. Great, the door locks. I was a little paranoid but kept my cool.

The two guys took out more weed and rolled another joint. We smoked and talked and laughed for a good hour or so when the short guy asked the obvious question. "Hey, man, can I ask you a personal question?"

"Shoot." I said, taking a drag.

"Are you gay?" He asked, lowering his voice.

I quipped back, "By gay, if you mean cock sucking faggot. Yes."

He laughed, waving off the swirls of smoke in front of his face, "What other gay is there, man?"

"There's Mickey Mouse gay, gay Christmas, gay ol' time...wait come to think of it they are all the same." I pondered.

I was laying on my side, propped up on my elbow. He reached over and slid his hand across my hip down on my butt. "I like your ass."

I looked up, "Really?"

Next thing I know, he's on top of me brushing my teeth with his tongue. It was getting pretty hot. I felt his erection rubbing against my stomach through his jeans. My soldier was standing at attention, too.

As he kept biting up and down the sides of my neck, I kept looking at his older friend and when he noticed, he put his hand on my chin and breathed, "Don't worry, he doesn't care. He's cool." And then shoved his tongue in my mouth again.

Through fumbles and gropes, I was on my stomach without my pants and boxers. My seducer was down, spreading my cheeks apart and flicking his tongue in and out of my asshole. I saw stars, that fucker knew how to give a good rim job. When I looked up from my blurry bliss, I noticed that his older friend was sitting on a milk crate with his pants down stroking a freakin' HUGE uncut cock. It was monstrous! At least nine inches and the girth was amazing and I was consumed by uncontrolled temptations.

I wiggled my way over to him and slobbered all over his thick head. I could barely fit that fucker in my mouth. The other guy slowly slid his middle finger in and out of my ass as he unbuttoned his pants and pulled out his short think erection.

"Get up, mijo...up on your knees." The little guy breathed. Slap-slap-slap-slap-slap-slap! His brown hips smacked against my ass as he fucked me fast and in short thrusts. Squirt! I felt his hot cum enter my ass in three spurts.

Crazed in lust, I sucked the older guys dick like my life depended on it. He stopped me, got up and mounted me from behind. No your not going to shove that big fucker in me, I thought as I playfully tried to squirm out from under him.

Jeeeeeeeeeeeeessssus!!

In long hard thrusts he rammed that monster up in me as he pinned me down by his vice like muscles. I couldn't help myself, with that big dick shoved in me, his hot breath on the back of my neck, with clenched teeth I moaned and squealed with fireworks bursting behind my shut eyelids. Eventually, he let out a low manly groan, hot and lustful, as he dumped his semen deep and nasty. He relaxed and slid off of me. He mumbled something to the effect that he hadn't cum in a month. I said I hadn't been fucked like that since elementary school and laughed it off.

"You like that, skinny?" The short guy smiled brushing a lock of hair from my eyes.

"Fuck." I sighed. I couldn't say anything else.

Out of breath and legs shaking, I cleaned myself and got dressed. We three sat and smoked a cigarette as the pain in my throbbing ass subsided. Before I left they both hit me up for ten dollars and I payed them. It was well worth it.

I returned to Primavera and took a shower under the watchful eye of the resident pedophile. I went to my bunk and read James St. James' Party Monster until I fell asleep.

I wish I could remember the two guys' names. Two rather nice fellahs.

Bling-bling!

I am so fucking fabulous; I can't stand it myself! The first joint I walk into I got a job today as a Front Desk Agent at a Best Western Hotel and at a pretty good pay rate, I might add. The boss was a handsome Hindu hottie and we clicked together very easily. Click-click-click! You see, I wasn't always like this, oh I mean I've always been visually stunning, but I never had such good luck at finding a job so quick! It's usually 'Meet me in the bathroom in five minutes' or 'Please lay on that couch...face down.' Gettin' a job was always hard work. But I always seemed to come out smilin'!
Yes, little steps...little steps. Next, save some cash, rent my Barbie Dream apartment, hobnob with the local queer sect and I'm in like Flynn, daddy-o's! And on that, visited their "club zone" here along 4th Street over by the University. Lot's of Alternative danceterias.
Found a gay bar, but didn't go in. I should of though, I haven't fallen in love for three whole days and I'm just itchin' fer some action!
This really is a tranquil little town. I hope the fags here aren't standoffish self-centered bitches like in California or condescending snooty queens like in New York City. And I hope they can handle a free thinkin' artsy fartsy manic depressive boy-toy film director with lotsa sass!
I passed a used car dealership and saw a black Ford convertible for $2300. Perhaps a phone call to mumsie is in order. Mothers can be so understanding.
Well, this blog is getting pretty scatterbrained. Tell me, do you really miss all that filth I used to write about back in Borrowed Flesh? It's really hard to read those passages, all that shit that I put myself through. But, then again I don't regret any of it. In my silver years, I can look back and recollect the crazy times I had. And that blog only covers, what, four months...I lived in Tijuana for almost seven years! But, I may go back to visit...at least I can do that. I kind of miss my friends. All horny bastards! But, I love 'em.
Perhaps, one day when I am obnoxiously famous and rich, I shall publish these journals under the title My Ass for the World to Kiss.

Everday is like Sunday.

Sunday in Tucson. It has been a while since I lived in a city that didn't wake up until noon on Sundays. Nothing opens until one o'clock here on Sunday! Bleh! Primavera gives everyone the boot at seven in the morning. So, chat with some fellow hobos...oh wait, gotta tell you this:

Seems we's gots some closeted fags among us! Was taking a shower this morning and a real cute "hillbilly" looking white boy came in. Long, tall, and baby smooth. Shaggy shoulder-length hair, goatee. Real nice hairless little bubble booty! And muscles for weeks! Was checking each other out discreetly whilst lathering up. Nice dick. Then old turtle-shaped coot waddles in and acts as cockblocker. Why, oh why, must you ugly fat bastards always go OUT of your way to fuck things up for us more fabulously fortunate? Why?! So, said hillbilly shyly compose himself and exits the shower, head lowered in shame and Catholic guilt. Well, as I rinsed the shampoo out of my hair, old turtle-puss starts tweaking his sad and pathetically wee organ while standing opposite to me. I stared straight at him and said, "If you even look at me again, you worthless pile of shit, I'll snap your fucking neck. Understand?"

He whirled around and started soaping his nether regions more candidly. I left feeling rather macho.

Went downtown and had breakfast at Jack in the Box, looked through the classifieds for work (Lots!), and then went to the El Con Mall and saw Flight of the Phoenix (Eh.) and then snuck in to see White Noise (Ugh.). What was Beetlejuice thinking!?

Tomorrow I get all dolled up in my corporate drag and scourer this desert metropolis for means of employment.

Odale!

shit

Time.

Man, since I put off looking for work until Monday morning, it seems I have a lot of time on my hands. Early this morning, I invited my hustler boy toy, Luis Valenzuela, to breakfast and we both went downtown to my favorite diner, Dizzy G's, and had breakfast. The waffles with strawberries and whipped cream were quite toothsome. Luis and I talked about his plans in Tucson and I relayed mine. It doesn't look like he is too interested in tripping the light fantastic with me anytime soon, so I won't push it. I got bigger fish to fry. After breakfast, we said our goodbyes and went our ways for the day.
Walking through downtown Tucson I was real jazzed to find out that there is a large independent film culture here! They have at least three small coffee houses/theaters that show local talent! Yumpin' yimminey! I was so excited that I spent the first half of the morning writing on a new screenplay of mine called Porno and the last half of the morning editing Crossed Wires on my Mac.
To finish the day, I went to the mall and checked out The Aviator. I really enjoyed it and Leonardo DiCaprio's performance with Scorsese's direction was on the money.
Someday...someday I will have my time in the limelight!!

I am officially a Tucsonian.

I went to the Department of Motor Vehicles today to get an Arizona I.D. I must really be serious about this choice I have made. It actually dawned on me while I was talking to the real hot Hispanic guy that was putting my information into the computer. We were chit-chatting, you know I was being my flirtatious self and I made a remark that I had just moved to Tucson a mere three days ago. However, I had been living in Tijuana for several years.
"You have family out here?" He asked.
"No. I just sold everything and came out here. Through a series of unfortunate adventures. But, I settled here. I rather like it."
He continued to type, "But, no family? You're all alone?"
"Pretty much."
"Man." He smiled. "There's nothing out here."
At that moment, my life for the past few years flashed before my eyes. All the filth and stench of that rotted Mexican city. All the virus-ridden male prostitutes, the vampiric American pedophiles that crossed the border in droves, the strung-out quivering junkies that would sleep in my doorstep, the drug habits, the drinking binges, the Wall of Whores, the crazy madness of the meth freaks and all night orgies, the self-debasement in the stinking porno theaters and grimy bath houses. I looked back with shock at my own corrupted soul. I should be dead!
The words, there's nothing out here, rang in my head. I smiled as I put my old identification back in my wallet. "I know. Brilliant!"
"That's crazy." He beamed at me, with that cute smile, dimples on each side of his black and shiny mustache.
Is it, I thought. Am I crazy? I have lived a strange and crazy life that few had only experienced. And I want to stop. I'm tired of it. I want to have stability, a decent job, money in the bank, a circle of close friends, a nice little apartment.
In other words, Dear Reader, I want to be just like you.

Hobosexual.

Before going to the homeless shelter yesterday, I jetted over to Target and bought some outfits. What is the fashion-conscious transient wearing this winter? I also stopped by Border's Books and purchased a copy of James St. James Disco Bloodbath. Very interesting read.
Well, after re-packing my new boxers, socks, and pajamas into my duffel bag, I called a taxi to pick me up and drive me down to Primavera Men's Shelter. It was a shelter, all right. A massive two-story corrugated iron building that you entered via a muddy road. There was a fenced-off area with picnic tables and benches. The building opens its doors at five in the afternoon and it was only four forty-five when I arrived. So, I paid the taxi driver and got in at the end of the line of about twenty men waiting to get in. And they all were old scraggly men in army jackets and well-worn jeans. They huddled in the cold air, collars upturned, spitting on the ground, talking with palms outward and up.
I didn't lose heart; I think I will like living in this small town. This is just a step I must overtake to reach my goals. And what goals are they, you ask? Well, I'll tell you, silly. I plan to get a job, an apartment, and schmooze with the local artsy-fartsy kids that live in this town. From what I saw in the paper, rent here is pretty cheap and there is plenty of work. No more drug-fueled parties! I really began to loathe Tijuana...it is such an evil city.
Well, I was eventually processed and given a bunk. The inside was a massive room that held at least two hundred army surplus bunk beds. I got a top bunk. My bunky below me is a withered old thing with a walker. After I made my bed and changed into my lounging outfit, the goofy fat bald guy next to my struck up a conversation.
The following is not made up…
He went into a long tirade about how the government is hunting him down, has frozen his bank assets, and just made his life, in general, a conspiracy hell hole. He produced from a folded swath of Chinese rice paper a little pin with some kind of electrode on the end.
"You see that?" He breathed. "You see? This is what they pulled out of my ear. For years they could see what I see...they saw through my eyes!"
Enough of that. I laid down amongst the smell of sour feet and unwashed bodies, doubting my own sanity. Am I all right? Am I losing my mind? What if I am going crazy...sane people don't do what I do. I really began doubting my actions over the last few weeks.
Then he walked in.
Shaven head, black goatee, hazel eyes, and baggy street clothes with a boxers build. He had a tattoo of a teardrop below his left eye. This little cholo was hot! And he got a bunk right next to mine! Right away I introduced myself and he said that his name was Luis Valenzuela and he just got released from prison. After he made up his bed, we went out to the little patio to talk. I told him my story and he thought it was pretty funny. I said I wasn't worried about my situation that much because I had some money left in the bank.
"For reals?" Luis said. "Let me have thirty dollars." He then went into this spiel about these shoes he wanted.
"What do I get out of it?" I retorted. Nothing’s for free...learned that from my days in Tijuana.
"What do you want?" He asked.
Without batting an eye, I said, "I want to suck your dick."
Naturally, he looked flabbergasted. I thought he was going to punch my lights out. Then a sly grin crept across his handsome lips. "Okay. But where?"
"Follow me into the restroom." And when we went into the men’s room, no one was in there. We went into the back stall, closing the door behind us I sat on the toilet and Luis pulled out his erect penis. I was so excited! Remember, I haven't had any action since Tijuana and this boy was too cute to pass up. I sucked that thick uncut cock like my life depended on it! Luis was letting out little moans and I was nervous that some old hobo might hear us and report us to the facilitators. Finally, when Luis was close, he pulled his dick out and sprayed down my hair and the right side of my face with gobs of hot cum! It was pretty intense! As I wiped my face and hair with toilet tissue, he stated that he hadn't cum in three months.
Odale.
Well, after helping Luis with his well-earned thirty dollars, I went to my bunk and began to read my book. Pretty good, Dear Reader, you should check it out. Luis decided to go into the T.V. room and watch the football game that was playing. At nine, they shut off the lights, but I couldn't sleep. I tossed and turned amid the high-decibel snoring and farting. Plus, I began running a fever and that just added to my misery.
At five o'clock in the morning, the lights came on and everyone made a mad dash to the restroom sinks to wash up. I felt like shit...like I was hit by a ten-ton truck. My throat ached, my back hurt, I was feverish. Luis looked so adorable wrapped up in his blankets. I wanted to reach over and glide my fingers down the happy trail that lead into his blue-striped boxers. I invited Luis to breakfast, but he said he had to meet his cousin for something. He is so goddamn handsome. Who knows? Maybe something will come of this.
I left after I washed up and had breakfast at this little diner called Dizzy G's. I think I will make it my hang-out. I waited for the library to open, to use their computers and printers to update my resume. Tomorrow I will go out and start looking for work.

Shoulda made that right turn at Albuquerque...

After a hella long bus ride from Manhattan to Tucson, I unloaded my gear from the Greyhound Bus and hailed a taxi. I asked the driver to take me to wherever the cheapest hotels. That would be Oracle Ave. or as the locals call it, The Miracle Mile. As the rain poured in sheets phantoms and crack-buzzing prostitutes prowled the soaked street. The Taxi Driver took me to the Hacienda Hotel, a decomposing hotel for only twenty dollars a night. I didn't care. I just wanted a warm bed and a hot shower. Paid the man, and moseyed up to the front desk. A little Indian woman (The Hindu kind.) was a warm reception as she showed me to my room.

Comfortable. Had HBO. Vibrating bed. I got undressed and ran hot water into the cracked tub. As I lay there stewing in my doubts I came to realize, I think I may give Tucson a try. I think I would like to live here. Why not? It seems a pretty cool place and has a great artist colony. Perhaps it’s time to change for the New Year.

After a great night’s sleep, I awoke and decided that since I didn't have any more money, I will seek out a shelter and use their facilities. I went to McDonald's for breakfast and I saw these two homeless-looking types and struck up a conversation with them. I asked for their opinion on what would be the best shelter in town. They said there were several, but hands down that would be Primavera Men's Shelter. So, after treating the two guys to coffee and breakfast, I called Primavera and secured myself a bunk at the place. I have to report there tonight at five o'clock.

And so, this is a great new chapter in my life. I think this is going to be a great change...new people, sparking insight, invigorating ideas, new friends.

This is going to be interesting. How about some feedback, ya'll?

Entering The Lost Highway.

Feel so dislocated. Asked Dan if he wanted to go to Times Square and see the ball drop. Negativo. So, I went to Manhattan by myself.

New Year's Eve in Manhattan. A freezing rain blew through the dark streets. Above the city, far up in the misted rain, long beams of yellow light swooped in circles through the black air. They were anchored to the Empire State Building---that great phallic symbol, a monument to the proud dreams of potency that is the spirit of New York City. And below, in the damp neon labyrinth of the city itself, people hurry; somewhere...everywhere...nowhere...

That was my direction. I combed the frozen festive streets filled with the Eve's party goers. I was so sad and alone. Surrounded by a million people and I feel so outside, unable to connect. I really wanted to go home. Taking a subway, I made my way to Greenwich Village and brought in the New Year amidst total strangers. It brought me down even more. I don't belong here...I belong back in Tijuana. After being hit on by some scrawny old man in a grey beard and a leather bike cap, I took the subway back to Brooklyn and went to bed.

Early next morning before sunrise, I packed my duffel bag, crept down the stairs, and left as John and Dan slept. I didn't even say goodbye. I left those rich old queers and their boy to what they do best a slow comfortable death.

As of this writing, I am sitting in the Port of Authority in Manhattan waiting for my bus. I only had enough money to get me as far as Tucson, Arizona. However, things will work out. I know it.