The Big Wait.

I sit here at an open cafe, munching Afghan food and sipping Merlot on this warm and breezy afternoon waiting for my train to depart at 5:30pm. Yesterday, I found my old written journal and I sit here thumbing through it. Reading a part when I lived in Juarez:

I'm riding along with Sylvio in the green cab, drunk, with big bottle of Fundador Bourbon whiskey in the military canvas carrybag they'd accused me of holding stolen goods on the Greyhound outside of Topeka...here I am in Juarez City, rainy Saturday night, mysteries, old dream sidestreets with no names reeling in, the little street where I'd walked through crowds of gloomy Hobo Indians wrapped in tragic shawls enough to make you cry and you thought you saw knives flashing beneath the folds...lugubrious dreams as tragic as the one in downtown Los Angeles next to the rail station...outside's a brakeman with red light and white light, lumbering in the sad vast mist tracks of life, smoke of reefer wafting through choked air...but now I'm out in the Great Desert of Mexico, the moon of Citlapol big and round and orange...a few nights earlier I'd stumbled on the sleepy roof on the way to the ancient dripping stone toilet...Sylvio is high, beautiful as ever, goin home gayly to go to bed and enjoy his morphine. Juarez City is definitely a city of dreams.

I stare at this entry with wisps of nostalgia. The headiness of the Merlot starting its effect and I began to crave this journey even more. Bought a digital camera for the trip. Perhaps I can finally figure out how to download them to this site. Such a calm has come over me...now there is nothing to do but wait.