Drunken Fag.

After work I headed south into the comfort of Mexico. Dragging my ass through the Plaza, I stopped in Bar D.F. to give the glad hand to my handsome friend Daniel - who was bar tending the joint. I said 'Howdy' he said 'Hi'.

Ordered a frosty cerveza Sol and sat at the end of the bar as Daniel carried on a conversation with a doctor friend - tall thin mustachioed character and rocking queer. So queer he rocked you. There were three other hombres at the bar; all working class.

I sat gulping my beer when I heard the distinct hissing lisp of a fag asking me were I live. Turned to my right and looked into the old fags dead, cold, undersea eyes - eyes without a trace of warmth or lust or hate - at once cold and intense, impersonal and predatory.

I told him I live in Tijuana and the thin reptilian fag cooed, "Soy encanto San Diego." (I love San Diego.)

I croaked something to the effect of agreement and lit a cigarette. "Do you have a girlfriend? Mexican or American? Do you live alone or with her?" Fuck! What's with all the questions?! Who was this guy - a Mexican Buddha? I thought but mechanically agreed to all of his questions.

He finally hissed, "I love to suck American cock." Leering at me with those bloodshot eyes.

"That is very obvious." I snapped and resounding laughter from the others in the bar. Yup, I can still work a room.

"Am I bothering you?" The fag asked putting down the hurt little boy routine.

"Indeed you are." I said icily, finishing my beer and made a dramatic exit.

On the corner outside, hot cholo pelon asks for the time and I flash over his body with eyes filled with mangled lust. As we walk briskly together down Avenida Secunda - he goes down the list to try to sell me Ray bans - jeans - drugs. But before I pop the question on how much for the dick - a paddy wagon screeches up and before I know it I am spread eagle and being goosed by two hoggish cops.

Only this time the rotten fuzz was really pressing on where did I keep my car and my money. After checking my person it came to my attention that these assholes where on the hunt for cash. The shorter fat cop looked at me and sneered, "Why don't you have any money, gringo? Where is it? What are you - un gabacho pobre?"

"Yes I am." I stated humbly retrieving my property off the hood of their truck and placing them back in my pockets. After grumbling together the cops shooed me on my way - leaving the cholo to them - I thought, That is what I have become - a gabacho pobre.