Sun was startlingly yellow on a brisk morning in the Plaza. Sat in with good friend Mike Lewis and Scott Goodgame chain smoking and shooting the shit - hacking and coughing like good hobos should. Tramp near us turns and asks, "Wanna beer?" Why not? Only 8:35am - it's Happy Hour in France, I reckon.
I shuffle to el bano publico - warren of old perverts and geriatric penis wavers - as the two acquired two forties from the convenient convenience store. Swig that shit like it was God's own piss water. Scott's girlie girl was there and decided not to take part in this debauchery, so I walk with her to the corner Walgreen's and stock up on junk food and ciggies. (Only the essentials, you understand.)
We return and two bike cops are writing my esteemed colleagues a ticket for an open container in an urban area under State Code 666.
"Do you have to sign up for bicycle detail?" Scott slurred, vain attempt at casual levity. Cop not amused.
Little Mike quivered in his shorty-shorts in lieu of warrants pending in New Mexico - but, with the luck of the Irish, both were only issued a citation for $200 each. Land of the free, home of the Brave...
Sat baking in the hot sun for awhile and yakked some more - I tell ya El Paso is not the spot for excitement. I call it The Saddest City in the World, mentally. My mind started to wander for other locals as the first of the months slowly creeps forward. Mikey even pondered the idea to move to Denver. Why not? I really thought the deal might be good - especially with this wild one.
The roaming just won't stop - you see, I gots it in me blood.
2 comments:
so what's the longest you've ever stayed in one place in the last, oh, 10 years? inquiring minds wanna know.
Does it matter? I am cursed to roam alone and without direction...
Cursed.
Obviously for all of your enjoyment.
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