Sunday, May 21, 2006

Freegay.

What a hellishly hot day it started out as. Hotter’n Georgia asphalt. Stayed in most of it. Laid around watching old film noir movies- Strange Loves of Ms. Ivers, Quicksand - and editing the Great American Novel. Still stuck in this frump – thinking of returning to Tijuana, perhaps asking Brian Wynn to go with me – talk about your flights of fantasy.

Eventually got up and showered; dressed and liked the way I looked. Walked over to the corner; got a pack of smokes and a bite to eat – at the hamburger stand from that little hottie Ignocio, wonder what I can get from that? Cuter than shite, he is. Then strolled to the Plaza to relax and think, but there was a rip-roarin’ bible thumpin’ show going on, so God wouldn’t have it. Sat there anyways and did the best I could. It was a nice warm night and the stars twinkled in a navy blue clear sky. The moon was big and orange like a grapefruit hanging in the hazy hot sky.

First goofball I ran into was my good bud Alfredo, he was making the rounds – going bar to bar – looking for his friends, but was out of luck. We shot the shit for a few and he took off. Eventually, and thank God, the Holy Rollers with the bull horns left and the Plaza quieted down and I sat there sipping my manzana fresca when Saneen walked up and said his howdy’s and gushed at how much he wanted to talk to me. So, three minutes into into the conversation, his razor cell goes off and he explains that he has to zip off to ProNaf and makes a date with me for coffee manana noche at nine. Okay…sure. And the fag scoots into the busy pedestrian night. I sat there – little dwarf woman drags luggage by (wheels long gone) begging for coins – old and ancient cowboy croons (white ten gallon hat and a dusty scowl under white bushy mustache) to a patient yet appalled cholo (handsome and queer) a few benches down – police prowl making random checks of identifications…

I decide to stroll over to Bar Nebraska to look for Alfredo and before I enter the door something calls for me from the shadows – I squint to see who it is. I have to look hard before I recognize him as Javier, that guy I really liked from Zacatecas. He is painfully thin, face sunken in, eyes all pupils, clothes are filthy – he has deteriorated into a full-fledged junky. My heart sinks – this is the same Javier that not two months ago I had to explain what crystal meth was. He denies taking drugs – but c’mon, who does he think he is kidding? I don’t say a word and enter Bar Nebraska and look for Alfredo. The small joint is crawling with Old Navy and Abercrombie and Fitch clones, Mexican style. Alfredo ain’t here – Javier has followed me in (What has happened to your face? – Nothing.) Buy me a beer, he pleads, grabbing my sleeve – no is my answer and I leave him standing raggedy in the middle of all that dazzling poshness. Goodbye Javier.

Hit the streets depressed even more after that and return to the Plaza and sit and chain smoke Lucky Strike after Lucky Strike – non-filtered, you dig? Alfredo appears outta nowhere and I groan my woes and say I need a drink so we walk around the corner to Bar Buen Tiempo for me a cerveza Sol and him a agua mineral – Alfredo doesn’t drink, dig?

Depression is lifted somewhat when I am scoped out by two hotties and that is what was needed to lift my spirits. Alfredo and I drink and giggle and talk but he says the word aborrito – boring for you stupid assholes that don’t speak Spanish –and we are out the door and off through the Old Market to Callatias – that bar of bars.

As ever, that hole in the wall was packed with bloated drag queens, bulldykes, junkies, pimps, homo-thieves, prostitutes, and whatevers – love the place. Always keeping it funky fresh. Alfredo and I made our way towards the back were we met our friends and the beer began to flow. One mention: my pal Isidio brought with him some little waif that looked like he was twelve years old – he claimed to be eighteen – named Manuel (Manuela! – Which is also Mexislang for masturbation.) Well the kid clung to me like a wart, I of coarse said to my group of friends that I had no intentions to do anything with the kid he was to young. Gotta keep face with these bitches – know what I mean? Even though I would have threw little Manuel on the floor and banged him doggy-style on the spot – he is that cute… Anyhoo, after the bar closed, this group of bitches and I walked over to Freegay Disco to boogie down – I was relieved to hear that Manuel could not enter because he had not an I.D. Made me all jittery having him around, you know – felt all kind of nasty the way he looked at me – I ain’t no child molester…Fucking Lolita.

Isidio was nice enough to pay for all eight of us to get in and we all climbed the stairs to enter. Finding a dark corner in this cavernous hall, we all got pretty ripped. Danced – drunk – hit on by hot guys – ran into some old friends. Even the new waiter, Manuel (There’s a pattern here, I just know it!) was hitting on me – and this waiter was fucking hot! Hot! Hot! But, of coarse he wanted money – oh well….

Transvestite show – strip show – then that little waif Manuel somehow got in and was being cruised by every old fat pedophile in the building – heh! One hot guy with a shaved head asked me home – what’s you’re name? He asked – Muy nice! He said – Wish I took him up on it.

Eventually, the disco closed and we all took our drunk asses out to the sidewalks outside where for some reason Isidio and some fat guy got into a heated argument – there was much gesticulating, finger snapping, Maryism – then we were invited to a party – in which for some reason – I was too drunk to figure out – we didn’t go. No, instead, I waited at the taxi stand with Isidio cruising the drunk cowboys – and some were quite handsome – but I was so drunk all I wanted to do was go to sleep. Took a piss next to a van to the gigglings of an old hag – what’s so fucking funny? Isidio met some vaquero (cowboy, you idiots.) and took off in a cab – I just stumbled home the few short blocks to my house ignoring the catcalls of the Amazonian Transvestite Hookers prowling the neighborhood.

Nah, Tijuana won’t do – Jaurez will do just fine.

No comments: