Quite Yummy.

Tired and sickened by that fucking loony bin hotel that I rent at, I found myself an apartment. Not a bad place, near Zona Rosa and close enough to the border so I can walk or make a hasty exit. And old Chuck, the world wise literary ex-patriot lives around the corner. Darling old coot, can score for anything and knows everyone in the Zone. Has been here since day one, grrl.
The apartment is near the end of a blind alley that hardly receives any sun. The room itself contains a well worn queen sized bed with dark oak headboard with matching nightstand. It has an armoire with full length mirror - cracked, a chair, a table and a window that looks out into a dusty alley. The walls are painted a light mint and the floors have red tile. A dusty ceiling fan wobbles above. The bathroom is wall to wall to floor white tiles, porcelain sink, and a toilet. The old kind that has a latch you pull from above. There is no shower - that is downstairs and shared by the tenants. Luckily has hot water. The kitchen has a refrigerator from the '50's that still runs, sink area, stove, and metal table with two metal chairs. All furnishings can be considered antiques. Slightly worn.
Not bad, I think, for $150 a month American currency.
Now, this is actually the second apartment. The first I received was consumed in cockroaches. At one point Ivan, my strikingly hot friend who works at café Norteno came over; we drank Tecate beers and smoked a little weed. However, every time we'd sit our glasses down on the floor or the table, one of those little motherfuckers would do a Greg Louganis into our glass. I would spray and spray, but those little black and brown buggers would return in force.
It was a Kafkian nightmare. I bitched high and loud like any good American to the landlord and was moved to another apartment, which was pretty much like the last except it didn't have any roaches. I might have caught two or three skittering across the floor, but it wasn't the amassed army as before.

Tried to seduce the kid around the block with whiskey and mota. Francisco was his name. Aztec hawk like features and a body like a ballet dancer. Two hours pass...back at my trap, we both flying high and me on my elbows and knees being screwed by this character. Mission accomplished.
Later that night, I have cocktails at Bar Villa Garcia with a Peruvian I know. Also there is old friend RJ and this 89 year old American tranny who calls herself ‘Norma Jean’. Crooked Andy Warhol wig, blue Capri and gaping black toothless hole. Black puffs of armpit hair jut out from dirty halter top.
“Made myself an artificial booty!” She cooed and cackled - swings around showing the obvious toilet paper padding. We all laugh. The martinis were quite yummy.