Saturday, February 17, 2007

Hot Fuzz.

Walking up from that cesspool of Coahilla - the Red Light District, ignorant asshole - I turn the corner into Plaza Santa Cecilia accosted by screaming queers on all sides - man, they were out in force tonight - and a truckload of Tijuana fuzz gang fucks me. Encircled by these menacing black uniformed stormtroopers - the little one asks where am I going and before I can answer barks for my identification. Tall, smooth cop explains in English - now get this - ¨We had a report of a white American that fits your description of buying drugs here in the plaza. May I have your permission to search your person?¨
Why not? You´re hot. So, up against the adobe wall and goosed - asked if I ever take drugs. Never. Never? Never.
¨We are just doing our job, senor - we are here to protect el touristos like you.¨ Says hot cop, giving me his One Adam 12 production as he empties my pockets, placing items on the filthy concrete. Opens wallet fat with peso notes all the colors of the rainbow.
Can kiss that wad goodbye, I thought. But the troopers took nary centavo one and let me be with a cuidado and roared off in their Keystone Cops paddy wagon.
Casually lit a Faro and walked into the darkness - teeming with the perverse and sexual predator, the thumpthumpthump of the queer bars rattling in my skull. Cute Aztec Indian lad smiles hand out for the soft touch. I drop a fist full of coins into his calloused hand. Have always been a sucker for a pretty face. Stopped in a cantina and downed two quick beers Sol - nasty hooker cooch eying me and I give her the leave me the fuck alone back.
Shuffled back to my trap on case that my stomach was aching. Hope it ain´t ulcers.

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