Dirty Rotten Shame.

After clomping down the metal stairs at Vinnies at 7:30 in the morning to be disappointed in an unwholesome breakfast, clammy oatmeal, and rock-hard toast, even the Victory Coffee was extra nasty, I decided to pay a visit to Tijuana. I had cashed my last paycheck from the hotel and am in dire need of contact lenses. Vanity and all.

A ticket was bought, a trolley boarded, and an hour later I was sitting at El Gallo restaurant in Plaza Santa Cecilia drinking good coffee and munching on some juevos rancheros. The funny thing is, that ancient ex-patriot Chuck is usually here every morning for the past twelve years, but this morn he was nowhere in sight. Odd. Hope he ain't dead. Okay, I wouldn't care. Evil old fuck, really. So, I sat and I chatted with my little waiter hottie from Chiapas, Aaron about things. Lighting a cigarette and watching the Rent Boys emerge blinking from the bars, the doped-up drag queens parade up and down the Plaza, and the never-ending march of the Wandering Mariachis.

An hour before noon, I am about to leave for the optometrist when I am approached by beautiful Fernando. This is Chuck's boy. Whenever Fernando is around, the old vampire swoons and coos like a little schoolgirl. Old fags in lust can make a man sick. Fernando is tall, thin, and very, very attractive. Dark, penetrating eyes, hawk-like features, and a smile that melts hearts. You know the type. He has learned silence and has great patience. You have to if you are with Chuck, he who moves kinda slow, just like Uncle Joe, down at the junction. Petticoat Junction.

So, where is Chuck? Asked about four times between us two and the answers are always the same...dunno. Well, I start being my coy and witty self and Fernando is smiling and being hot when I make the comment that I am going to look for my friend Saul. I want to rent a room and make it with my old friend, feeling kinda randy this morning. Fernando, smiling...always smiling like the Cheshire Cat, asks why look for Saul when he would do just as fine. I choke on my coffee.

"But aren't you Chuck's boy?" I ask. You do not hit on one of the old queen's boys here in Tijuana. Chuck knows everybody---cops, killers, cartels---can make your life in Tijuana quite nasty if you get on his bad side.

"We are just friends. Plus, I have kept my eye on you for some time." He flashes that smile again and those fucking eyes hypnotize you.

"Let's go get that room," I say, putting down my coffee mug.

"Let's go."

First we stop off at the optometrists for my contacts. After polite patter with the Doctor, Fernando and I walk over to the Red Zone and Hotel Coliseo. The streets are teeming with life under the hot sun. The smell of seared meat and sewage. Crowds stand around taco carts. A tattooed and shirtless cholo eyes me with lust or hatred, I don't know which. Dogs weave through the taco carts, stop, scratching at their infestations. Hot and muggy. Shirt clinging to me like a wet condom. Police patrols race by with handsome yet brutal young cops clinging to the sides of the trucks knocking up clouds of dust. Old pimp yells obscenities as they pass by from his spot on the cracked and soiled cement. Pregnant prostitutes stare with indifference. When Fernando and I reach the hotel, we have to wait in the patio until the room is cleaned. An hour of embarrassing silence goes by until our room is ready.

The room is small and has a sagging bed and no windows. Smell of bleach and t.v. don't work. Do we need a television?

"Turn off the lights and let's get undressed," Fernando mumbles.

Much kissing and foreplay ensues. I stroke and kiss at his smooth long body beautiful. Fernado is giving one hell of a blow job when loud banging comes from the steel door. Naked, I answer it. It is the hotels apeish looking repair man.

"Perdon, senor. But I have to check the sink for leaks."

"Really?" I sneer through clenched teeth.

Rapidly dressed, we wait in the hall for the full minute it takes this naco to inspect the sink.

After the Supe leaves, back to business. Lot's of kissing and romantic whispers in the dark. Fernando is one smooth cat. Before he screws me, he asks if I want to be his novio.

"But aren't you Chuck's?" I ask, and am dead serious. If Chuck found out about this liaison, I'm a dead man.

"We are just friends..he is too old." Fernando sighs, brushes his lips across mine. I can feel his soft thin moustache.

"Sure, I'd like that." I whisper. Ah, what the hell, you live only once, reet?

The passion that followed was crazy, messy, loud, wet, hot, painful, beautiful. We fell sweating into each other's arms and when our heavy breathing subsided, Fernando lay on top of me and kissed me until he had his fill. We lay there for an hour staring into each others eyes, deep into the souls. And I came to realize that I like this guy, a lot.

I can feel the chemistry between us. "This is so romantic. I think I love you." I whisper and flick a cockroach off of my big toe.

Five thirty rolled around and I told him it was time for me to go. We showered and dressed and after a brief dinner of tacos and beer, said our goodbyes and I returned to the border. Thought of that boy all the way back to San Diego. Fernando wants to meet Saturday morning under the Arch. The same time I usually meet Chuck for coffee in the Plaza. Playing with fire, kiddo.

Why is it that whenever I meet someone special and all is right between us, it's gotta be under fucked up circumstances?

Back at Vinnies with the fiery yellow sun blazing down the horizon, I found Pensacola Jeff and his friend Slim standing on the corner. Feeling it, I invited the two to a twelve pack of Steel Reserve and we walked to the marina to drink. But, was asked to leave by the Police Patrols. Where is the freedom in this country?

Fuck 'em, we stumbled over to the parking lot of Petco Stadium and drank there. Until we were run off by the police, again. We then just meandered through skid row and drank in the streets among the tramps camping out on the sidewalk amid piss and shit and vermin. Getting a pretty hefty buzz going, we returned to Vinnies where we joked with the local hobos and crazy folk and then crashed in our bunks.

Son cosas de la vida, cobrones.