Outta Whack

I sat in a coffee shop on Avenida 16th de Septiembre and watched my cold coffee swirl with the thin skin of curdled cream that floated on top. My cigarette was burned down to a nub, but I waited. And, I hate waiting.

The clock up on the wall crawled like the clock in the Machinery of Metropolis and just as painful.

An old fart - wrinkled and the color of a brown paper bag - sat staring and staring and I glared back at him, but he wouldn’t stop. What? He thinks I’m queer or something?

I gulped the coffee and asked the obese and overworked, underpaid mesera for another cup and she looked at me like I just fucked her virgin daughter and sloshed half a cup full. (Made mental note to slam down two pesetas and dramatically storm out. Cunt.)

Stared out the big window and the world was cold and the wind was blowing dust and the Mexican folk - they walked briskly by, huddled in their trappings to avoid the cold.

But, it’s cold in here, too as I sipped my coffee and that shit was hot. I made a little yelp and the old coot giggled.

Wyoncha go watch the toilet flush, Gramps?

So, I wait and I had one Lucky Strike left and I had only twenty-two pesos and he was late. They were always late. Goddamn, like there are two time zones, American and Mexican and Mexican is always outta whack.

Two Mexi-fags entered and coyly scoped out my white ass before they primly plopped into a booth, but I just watched the cockroach skitter across the diner counter.

I flicked the critter with my finger when it came too close and catapulted it onto an éclair that some fat bitch, rich and nasty, ate later.

Where the fuck was he? I could hear the ticking of the clock over the fucking chachacha music. Will he even show up?

I straightened the wrinkle in my black chinos and gazed over and watched a hoggish couple slurp and kiss each other in a corner booth. Revolting. Wonder what would happen if me and Oscar began frenching right there in the middle of the cafe?

One of the Mexi-fags caught my eye contact and smiled. Flames and knives shot out of mine in return.

Ding! The door - no, just a shoe shine boy that asked the gringo in a shop full of customers; but asked the gringo only, if he wanted his shoes shined.

“Nope.” I said.

Kinda cute. I gave the kid ten pesos and told him to go buy some marijuana - he laughed – then, I followed with ‘come back inna few years to make some real money.’ And, watched the cutey leave the cafe.

Finally, with a blast of cold air, the glass door swung open and in all his hotness Oscar strolled in and he looked fine in black-leather coat, black sweater, black slacks and boots.

“I hope you weren’t waiting long?” He asked and smiled that smile that melted hearts.

“No, not long.” I returned. “I was just finishing a cigarette. Ready to go to the movies?”

“Let’s go.”

We both hit the cold pavement. I walked next to him, laughing and thinking what a beautiful night.