A Kerouac Trip.

Woke up early, and after a breakfast of black coffee and cigarettes, crossed the frontier and saw Rob Zombie's The Devil's Rejects in San Diego. A very funny and very violent movie. The cool part is I got what Rob Zombie was getting across, I being a big fan of '70's grindhouse cinema. Then I snuck in and saw Cronicus with John Leguezamo, directed by the same guy who did Y tu Mama Tambien. That, too, was a good drama about a child raper and murderer in Ecuador. As I walked out of the cinema, the ideas for stories were popping around my head like fireworks.

It was a typical sunny blue hot day and I strolled through the swanky upper end Gaslamp District of Downtown San Diego and ran into Tim Jones, an old friend who is head waiter at some fancy schmancy Persian Restaurant. We shot the shit for awhile as he gave me a tour of the two leveled eatery and after a quick whiskey shot at his bar I said my goodbyes and left.

I stopped at a Starbuck's on 5th and G and as I sat outside slurping on my Frappacino Mocha I saw that the guy next to me was reading Desolation Angels by Jack Kerouac. Ah, Kerouac...he alone opened a thousand coffee shops across America and influenced a whole generation of baby boomers to wear blue jeans. I took a look at the guy next to me, not bad. He was tall and lean with jet black hair and green eyes. Except he was wearing that shirt:

http://www.tommy.at/images/abercrombie3.jpg

But, I was wearing this shirt:

http://www.emerchandise.com/images/p/TMB/pdLSTMB0001.jpg

so things balanced out.

"That's a good book." I said behind my big big azz Willy Wonkish Jackie-O glasses.

He paused for effect and looked at the cover. "It's a great book. I find his writing prose quite interesting. Such a free spirit he was. Some people were born to move from one place to the next, explore and then write about it. I wish I had the balls to do that. Never be tied down...always able to go where you want to go and do what you want to do. I lead such a boring life."

"Really?" I grinned. "I bet he would have traded places with you if he had the chance. Chaos always craves what it cannot attain and that is stability."

He studied me for a moment. I took off my glasses and slurped at my Frappacino. "You are a very interesting guy." He smiled.

Yes, chemistry.

I extended the glad hand. "Hi...I'm ****."

"My name is Chris."

We then sat for four hours smoking cigarettes, drinking coffee and talked of literature, the War in Iraq, Flash Gordon, and the great household items at Target as tired tourist shuffled by under the blast of summer sun. As the sky turned dark navy and the stars began to come out, we visited Cafe Ole, a Spanish Bar and Restaurant on the strip. We laughed and talked. I ordered a Singapore Sling and he drank beer.

"So do you live downtown?"

"No...no, I live in Tijuana."

"Tijuana?" He gasped. Then the old I hate Tijuana routine spilt forth. The al-kee-hall started its effect and Chris gave me that look with those dreamy eyes. Or maybe the liquor was talking. What was certain we were both tore up from the floor up.

I decided to gamble with it, "I know of a cheap hotel nearby. Just a few blocks thataway."

He bit his bottom lip and mumbled something positive. Money was slapped on the bar, door flung open and we slipped out into the brisk night air. Into the Pickwick Hotel we strode and paid for a tiny room with a bed and a television. Bathroom down the hall. Paint flaking and roaches having a siesta.

First it started with light kissing, then we undressed and I lay on top of him. Our organs stiffened as I rubbed my body on top of his, filling his mouth with my tongue. Condom was applied, lubed and Chris slid his long circumcised penis in me with slow circular motions. I held onto his muscular ass. He held my feet as I played with his nipples. Legs were stroked, toes sucked. The sweat started running down his chest as he rapidly drew in breath after breath. I started moaning through clenched teeth. The boy was quite pneumatic in the hips. Thrusting harder; his forehead touched mine and our wet hair stuck together, he gasped Oh God Oh God as I could feel the semen rush up through his penis and into the condom.

Later we lay under the ceiling fan and shared a Lucky Strike. We stared into the darkness and whispered nothings to each other. Then:

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

"No."

"Why?"

"It's a luxury my kind can't afford."

"Why do you always talk so esoteric?"

"To force people to think. Anyway...I'm leaving town in a few days. A Kerouac trip."

"When will you be back?"

"Never."

Afterwards, it was pretty anti-climatic. We slept in each others arms. Well, Chris slept. I don't sleep. When the sun broke over the horizon and the sounds and rumbles of the City started to clamor, I slipped on my clothes and exited the room leaving him snoring to him self. Cute and lovable. But, he snores too loud.

I returned to Tijuana and stopped at Cafe Norteno and had a cuppa black coffee and a cigarette. Why is it that I always meet someone who is perhaps my other half right before I leave town?

Son cosas de la vida, cabrones...