Dragging my ass through the Plaza, I stopped in Bar DF 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 shocking queer. So queer he shocked 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 where I live. Turned to my right and looked into the old fags dead, cold, undersea eyes - at once cold and intense, impersonal and predatory.
I told him I live in Tijuana and the thin reptilian fag cooed, “Soy encanta 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? How many times you have sex? Does she like it? Do you like it?”
Fuck! What is with all the questions? I thought but mechanically agreed to all of his lascivious queries.
He finally hissed, “I love to suck American cock.” Leering at me with those bloodshot eyes.
“That’s 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 Segundo - he goes down the list to try to sell me Ray-Bans – designer jeans - drugs. But sooner than 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 I kept 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.
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 shocking queer. So queer he shocked 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 where I live. Turned to my right and looked into the old fags dead, cold, undersea eyes - at once cold and intense, impersonal and predatory.
I told him I live in Tijuana and the thin reptilian fag cooed, “Soy encanta 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? How many times you have sex? Does she like it? Do you like it?”
Fuck! What is with all the questions? I thought but mechanically agreed to all of his lascivious queries.
He finally hissed, “I love to suck American cock.” Leering at me with those bloodshot eyes.
“That’s 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 Segundo - he goes down the list to try to sell me Ray-Bans – designer jeans - drugs. But sooner than 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 I kept 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.
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