Punching a Hole in the Big Lie.

A ticket was bought and a train will be boarded. I wrapped up things at my apartment, giving the keys to my Landlady. This time I am taking a steamer trunk of all my shit with me...there is no coming back. Nobody here I will miss. Years ago, when I left Juarez City for San Diego, I was consumed with a sharp sadness. I do not share that emotion with Tijuana.

I came here under false pretenses, anyway. Originally, it was my obsession with Felix Montero. And that drive alone sent me hurtling here at all expenses of heath and finance. But after the last communique via e-mail...it all stopped. The want to see him again and to talk just snuffed out like a candles light. A ten year accumulation of false hope and wishing shut out with a push of a button. That part of my life is done. With great confidence, I can say: It is over.

Now what to do?

I sat and I thought. For a very long time I thought. It wasn't until my friend Hector commented that of all the myriad places that I had seen and visited, where did you feel the most comfortable? So, I thought about it. And the border town of Juarez City across from El Paso, Texas flashed on and off like a siren in this darkness of mine.

Juarez is a great city. Great by means that I had more kicks than in Tijuana during my stay in that frontier western town. It is more corrupt, more sleazy, more un-American than any Mexican city along the border. El Paso isn't shit...there is nothing there. Hell they only got two queer bars in the whole burg! But, Juarez! It a virtual Sodom and Gomorrah in the desert. I wrote my best shit there.

So, my train leaves tomorrow via a change in Los Angeles (Yikes!) and then a direct shot to El Paso. I have rented a room in a small yet comfortable boutique hotel, the St. James, for the night and will be up on the roof with a box of beer and my laptop.

Juarez City, whether you like it or not, here I come.