Woke up in a strange bed in a strange room. (Which is not odd for me.) I was wearing nothing but a black t-shirt and was lying on my stomach. (Again, nothing out of the ordinary here.) However, when my eyes focused I noticed a grizzled little old Mexican man sitting in a chair opposite the bed.
“Hola.” He said, staring with glistening eyes.
“Hola.” I croaked.
I felt like crap. My mouth was foul and evil tasting. My stomach hurt as much as my head and I was a bit disoriented. I was in a cheap hotel room. It was day time. The room was squalid and consisted of the sagging bed, an antique banged up armoire, and a wooden chair occupied by some ancient midget in soiled clothes. He didn't say a word. He just sat there. The room smelt of bleach and old linens.
“Pass me my pants, please.” I said in Spanish.
The old scruffy man handed me a pair of well worn green army fatigues. “No. No es mio.” (No. That's not mine.) He picked up a pair of black jeans and black cotton boxers. Yep, those are mine. Checked wallet - money gone. Watched as I got dressed. Old coot explained that he was the receptionist and came to wake me up, for it was time to check out. I stumble out the room and down the hall, swatting small swarms of flies that fluttered in the dark corridor. Walking through the shabby lobby and outside into the noisy polluted streets. Hotel Lupita, cheap $10 a night joint.
What the fuck? I shuffled under the relentless sun to a corner taco stand and tried to patch together the previous night. Two tacos and a horchata later...
I remember that I spent the first half of the day in Plaza Santa Cecilia at a sidewalk cafe, sitting outside drinking coffee and watching the hot guys pass by and shooing away the relentless onslaught of roving mariachis and dirty children selling gum. I was approached by a guy that seemed very familiar with me. He was tall and lean, wore all black and sported a goatee.
He smiled and shook my hand and said in English, “Hey! How are you? Did you have a good time at Adelita's last night?” He glared with fire in his brown eyes and a smile that melted your heart.
Now for the unwary, I shall educate you, Adelita's is a hetero strip joint. A place I do not frequent under any circumstances and hence my confusion. However, this person was unordinarily handsome, like a model for Interview Magazine. Tall, dark and really hot. Big muscular hands and long feet.
“Uhm...it wasn't me.” I stated. I sipped my coffee.
“You sure?” He smiled and pointed at me. “You look like that guy.”
That guy? What guy? Why do I always look like that guy?
“No, kiddo, ya got me all wrong. It wasn't me. I'm…” And I made the Universal Fag Sign. I flipped my wrist down.
His face went blank. “Oh.” He said pensively - paused a moment. “You gotta boyfriend?”
“No.”
Smiled leering - raising an eyebrow. “Well, you wanna...?”
“No.” I said flatly.
“Well, here,” he said scribbling on a piece of paper. “There is a fiesta tonight on La Playas. Be my guest. Call me.” We shook hands and he walked away. I stared at the paper. Scrawled: Pablo 011653-5362 besos.
Okay. Whatever. Paid the bill and went to Bar Ranchero. Bottom floor was empty except for several tired looking old fags and a plump transvestite that tottered drunkenly on her cha-cha heels. Sat at the bar, boy-whore stood on the other end of the bar kept eyeing me and rubbing his moneymaker. I ignored him and drank my Sol. Struck up a conversation with two guys sitting next to me. One real ugly and short and the other okay in a plain looking way. They kept after me and getting very drunk, I wound up paying for all the drinks. The ugly guy kept trying to kiss me, but I wouldn't reciprocate, which made him hostile. Then that guy Pablo from the cafe walked in and pulled me away from them. We ordered drinks and plopped into a booth. That was it! I remember! That fucker put something in my drink! I don't remember anything after that.
I went home after the tacos and took a cold shower. Carlos' house does not have hot water. Carlos asked me where was I all night and I related this story to him. He, in his beautiful sensitive way, cautioned me and talked me into going to get tested for AIDS and everything else tomorrow. I agreed.
I don't get him. He knows me. He understands how I am. Anyway, the Zone takes care of its own.
“Hola.” He said, staring with glistening eyes.
“Hola.” I croaked.
I felt like crap. My mouth was foul and evil tasting. My stomach hurt as much as my head and I was a bit disoriented. I was in a cheap hotel room. It was day time. The room was squalid and consisted of the sagging bed, an antique banged up armoire, and a wooden chair occupied by some ancient midget in soiled clothes. He didn't say a word. He just sat there. The room smelt of bleach and old linens.
“Pass me my pants, please.” I said in Spanish.
The old scruffy man handed me a pair of well worn green army fatigues. “No. No es mio.” (No. That's not mine.) He picked up a pair of black jeans and black cotton boxers. Yep, those are mine. Checked wallet - money gone. Watched as I got dressed. Old coot explained that he was the receptionist and came to wake me up, for it was time to check out. I stumble out the room and down the hall, swatting small swarms of flies that fluttered in the dark corridor. Walking through the shabby lobby and outside into the noisy polluted streets. Hotel Lupita, cheap $10 a night joint.
What the fuck? I shuffled under the relentless sun to a corner taco stand and tried to patch together the previous night. Two tacos and a horchata later...
I remember that I spent the first half of the day in Plaza Santa Cecilia at a sidewalk cafe, sitting outside drinking coffee and watching the hot guys pass by and shooing away the relentless onslaught of roving mariachis and dirty children selling gum. I was approached by a guy that seemed very familiar with me. He was tall and lean, wore all black and sported a goatee.
He smiled and shook my hand and said in English, “Hey! How are you? Did you have a good time at Adelita's last night?” He glared with fire in his brown eyes and a smile that melted your heart.
Now for the unwary, I shall educate you, Adelita's is a hetero strip joint. A place I do not frequent under any circumstances and hence my confusion. However, this person was unordinarily handsome, like a model for Interview Magazine. Tall, dark and really hot. Big muscular hands and long feet.
“Uhm...it wasn't me.” I stated. I sipped my coffee.
“You sure?” He smiled and pointed at me. “You look like that guy.”
That guy? What guy? Why do I always look like that guy?
“No, kiddo, ya got me all wrong. It wasn't me. I'm…” And I made the Universal Fag Sign. I flipped my wrist down.
His face went blank. “Oh.” He said pensively - paused a moment. “You gotta boyfriend?”
“No.”
Smiled leering - raising an eyebrow. “Well, you wanna...?”
“No.” I said flatly.
“Well, here,” he said scribbling on a piece of paper. “There is a fiesta tonight on La Playas. Be my guest. Call me.” We shook hands and he walked away. I stared at the paper. Scrawled: Pablo 011653-5362 besos.
Okay. Whatever. Paid the bill and went to Bar Ranchero. Bottom floor was empty except for several tired looking old fags and a plump transvestite that tottered drunkenly on her cha-cha heels. Sat at the bar, boy-whore stood on the other end of the bar kept eyeing me and rubbing his moneymaker. I ignored him and drank my Sol. Struck up a conversation with two guys sitting next to me. One real ugly and short and the other okay in a plain looking way. They kept after me and getting very drunk, I wound up paying for all the drinks. The ugly guy kept trying to kiss me, but I wouldn't reciprocate, which made him hostile. Then that guy Pablo from the cafe walked in and pulled me away from them. We ordered drinks and plopped into a booth. That was it! I remember! That fucker put something in my drink! I don't remember anything after that.
I went home after the tacos and took a cold shower. Carlos' house does not have hot water. Carlos asked me where was I all night and I related this story to him. He, in his beautiful sensitive way, cautioned me and talked me into going to get tested for AIDS and everything else tomorrow. I agreed.
I don't get him. He knows me. He understands how I am. Anyway, the Zone takes care of its own.
1 comment:
Hey, thanks for the comment and i think you read too much into that poem, but that's still good, didn't realise all that stuff before. About what you asked me, i'll give that a miss, thanks for asking though. hope that trip is a good one.
Post a Comment