Wednesday, October 25, 2006

Tangible Dream.

Decided to take the last bus down to J-town and trudge over the International Bridge al in lieu that Joaquin Q. threw a party in honor of his new apartment. Two room rat hole with a rusted steel balcony and panoramic view of the Whore Zone. Nice if you wanta see smog, criss-cross of wires, and bloated transvestite hookers clop up and down the broken puke covered pavement. But, ah yes, the aforementioned fiesta. All types of sordid junkies and nefarious types lurked in the smoke filled shadows of Jose's colonial apartment. Cocaine, marijuana, and booze passed many a hand.
Raggeaton music and screaming and the vecinos rush in like flaming Furies.
Stumbled over Eduardo in the bathroom and he said "I'm killing myself with this stuff." And looked at me with sick cocaine be-bop eyes. I take a snoot or two myself and feel it.
"Pinche tu madre, cabrone."
Half a bottle of Jose Cuervo too soon and effects of cocaine cause me to lose control. I stumble and sway and the music! The music was all around me. Sniffing, I lean against chipped pink painted wall and listen to hyped up drug fueled patter of Joaquin gab in galvanized gestures at some ratty whore strung out on goofballs. "...shots of heroin by candlelight - they had turned off the lights and water. Was Pacheco glad to get rid of his roommate. Never take a dude with a monkey.
And my buddy went away. Like a cat somebody gives him more food and one day he is gone. No good. No bueno."
Suddenly, I see this Mexican Indian boy in sharp focus with handsome dark Aztec features. He is hooked and sick, sniffing and all the bones stand out on his face. He catches my look and walks over and leans on the green metal table and says:
"Could you help me?"
Lean brown hand gently rubs against my hardening crotch. The guy is short, but handsome with strong Aztec features. In his hazel eyes flicker pinpoints of light.
Get out of here. Bar. Grocery store. Antennae of television suck the sky like greedy periscopes. The boy lived in a dead end sub-division. Rats scurry in gutters and the cockroaches...the cockroaches were downright arrogant. Old 19th century Spanish apartment with rusted iron balconies.
Dim light hangs from wire attached to the ceiling. Windowless room of concrete. Smell of mildew and unwashed linens. I tear open a small bag of cocaine, he rips open a packet of lubrication. Undress quickly and erect penis is oiled up. On all fours, I clench the thin brown blanket as the smack-smack-smack of his hips hit my naked ass. The coke explodes behind my closed eyelids like fireworks as he shudders deep inside of me to some kind of climax.
Through dry lips we both sigh together, "Muy bueno."
In the back of a taxi, the lights of the city flicker across my face as we do a kamikaze race to frontier. With the window down, the cold night air plays in my hair. I grin behind screwed up eyes. Will be moving back to Tijuana on Thursday.

No comments: