Saturday, May 05, 2012

Rambling, Rolling Thoughts.

I'm jotting this down on the fly so bear with me:
There is no way to describe the loneliness and pain of taking a bus halfway across the country in the middle of the night. I felt apprehensive as I stood in that blistering heat of downtown El Paso waiting to board the cheap-ass route I had chartered. It seemed so fast that this decision to relocate had came to pass - a matter of days really. Four days to be exact. Four days to shed the two years accumulation of useless crap. Anyway, as I said, I felt odd - as if I was escaping a trap in which if I did not hurry, the trap would close and I would remain forever.
So, I'm careening through the dusky night in seats which felt like steel - seated with an obese retard who felt it was necessary to snore loudly in my face. I noticed that he had something garlicy earlier.
I sat in discomfort and with spinning paranoia - staring up through the rattling and plastic window at that full moon in that vast, navy sky full of stars - wondering if I had done the right thing. I mean, pulling up my tent and stealing into the night was nothing new to this Great White Explorer - seriously this was downright child play - but, I must admit, I did have my doubts.
The night dragged as I fidgeted with a sore ass and cramping legs - Lordsburg, Tucson, Phoenix, San Bernardino, Baldwin Park - phantom towns of past nostalgia whisked by like unnamed assholes in a well traveled bathhouse. I've seen them countless times before and I will apathetically see them all again. So it goes.
Well, Your Reporter finally arrived at the border town of San Ysidro. Newly renovated it would seem since my last visit. Crossed la linea into the land of milk and honeyboys, handing change to grimy hands of grimy children, dragging my luggage rapidly past the taco vendors - stench of seared meats and wilted vegetables - past the barking pitchmen and up to a gang of taxi drivers all on the hustle. Picked the cutest that I could muster in that ugly menagerie and hurtled over the mountain to my final location - las playas. (The beach for you ding dongs that no speaky the Spanish)
Pulled up to my old haunt, the cafe Aquamarino where, after slapping a 200 peso note into the taxi drivers hand followed by a wink, I was greeted by several old acquaintances sitting out front on tables sipping coffee and shooting the shit. I was also surprised that two people I did not know approached me and complemented me on my books. I still can't grasp this unwanted fame and notoriety from this writing gig which I have stumbled across. They're just books, people.
Eventually, I was reunited with my good pal Paco - he had originally invited me to rent a room in his sea side villa for only $150 a month. When I saw the place I was quite pleased - comfortable and spacious.
As of this writing, I am sitting in a sea side cafe of Moroccan motive eating sweet tiramisu and sipping Arabic coffee and I can honestly say - no more regrets. Unlike Lot's wife, I will not ever look back.

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