It seems that fate is once again fuckin' with me - mettlesome bitch! I have been offered to rent - at $100 less than last time - this house in Juarez that I occupied a few years ago. I guess the war against the cartels and police have scared away all the expat scumbag losers dwelling in that mad, beat desert metropolis.
The gossip and hushed whispers about the city across the border is bleak and bloody to say the least. Two nights ago as I trudged back to the mish after squatting in a park downing a Hurricane with two hobo cohorts Red and Dumpster Dave, I heard the ratatat of machine gun fire echoing in the slums just past the 10 Freeway and Rio Grande. The mission and it's road run parallel to these - you could spit west at Juarez from El Paso and hit it.
It doesn't faze me, of course. Last night, news reported that there were no less than 17 deaths related to this skirmish last week, if you ask me - which you haven't, but I'm telling ya anyways, you jerk - the battling warlords are slacking in their death quotas.
So, I guess the planned trip to New Orleans and Puerto Rico is gonna be put on hold. I am looking forward to spending the winter - though it gets nut shattering cold here - finishing the novel I started, writing my next (Fried Chittlins) and putting that book of poetry out. So, I'm going to be a busy little beaver, I reckon.
So, I am waiting. And wait I will...