Clacking down the rail on the southbound trolley and i hit San Ysidro. Glancing out the window I saw a phantom perched in the blazing afternoon sun squatting on the steps of the local Jack in the Box. It was Dan Cockenour. No mistaking that visage.
You long term readers will remember him as the lad I went to New York with years ago. I had seen him maybe twice since then. Once at Vinnies and once strutting around the corner of 2nd and Revo in TJ - again, that was years ago.
I jolted off the train to give the boy the glad hand - as I approached his visage! The broken withered Angel hipster that stooped there! Frail thin, wasting away - ragged clothes and skin leathery and burned. His face held in a mask of inner anger and hatred - the face of the terminally insane.
A few steps to go and I was ready to converse - but, he shot up and walked arrogantly past. Just enough time for me to ask, "Dan?"
I wasn't sure this wreck was him. I mean, a few years living like we did can tax a person both mentally and physically. He was in such dire shape.
Well, that didn't go so good, so I just lit a Lucky and crossed over back home.
I have been hitting my new novel with full steam and it is coming out fantastic. Also, been hunting for an agent. All this aside - Tijuana has become a slow bore. Sure, the tranquility of my lifestyle now is great in the fact that I am getting a lot of writing done, but, I am not happy. My wandering eye has been looking towards the barrio La Perla on the island of Puerto Rico. Why not?
1 comment:
Damn, man, that's haunting!
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