"Why do you want to leave this country so bad?", He asked. "I am from Central America and we are all trying to come to the States." He points around Balboa Park - laughs. "It is Land of the Free, homie, anything can be done here."
I took a long drag from my Lucky. Cough - take a deep breath and retort, "American jobs are being shipped out to foreign countries, gasoline prices are skyrocketing, our civil rights are being violated under the Patriot Act and its data mining projects, race-specific bio-weapons have been documented to be real such as the HIV virus that was created to kill Africans in the Congo and gays in New York and San Francisco, all under the guise of small pox vaccines, the intentional dumbing-down of Americans through a corrupt educational system, children being forced to take vaccines under gun-point, the devaluation of the dollar, the destruction of the family unit through government agencies that will take your child if they arbitrarily think you're unfit to be a parent....all this is done to destroy the middle class and to force us into a society where we are being treated more and more as if we are all illegal immigrants with no civil rights. A sex and drug obsessed society that's controlled by scientists and bureaucrats.
Land of the free, indeed. Take it from a wise guy, kid - this country is a shit poor Police State. Take off while you still can. Myself - as in me - I am going to hide in some third world jungle."
I pause and watch a jet scream in for a landing over dusty trees, “‘SHOOT THE BITCH AND WRITE A BOOK! THAT’S WHAT I DID,’ I say, breaking the silence - possessed by cold fingers of a beat ghost.
He blinks in the afternoon sun - the blazing blue sky hurts my eyes. He rolls over in the grass next to me, "Let's go get a fifth of vodka."
"Smartest thing you mumbled all day." I grin casually.