The black exhaust farted from the passing buses faze them? Nope. The lung searing dust from the construction on the street right in front of them effect them. No way. The reek of stale garbage or wafting urine and feces from the adjacent alley? Nuh-uh. But, when I stand outside the cafe and smoke a cigarette? You bet one or two pass covering their noses or emit a fake cough. Fuck you, people!
On a lighter note, I have put the gears in motion. I am leaving this God-forsaken desert once and for all. Kind of. At first, not exactly.
Okay, hear me out, you judgmental peasants: I am going to Tucson for a while. Why? Well, first of all, I like it there. Far better than El Paso yet just as big. I am not comfortable in large cities anymore. I have declined the invitation to San Francisco for the sole purpose that it is too over crowded for my tastes. They all seem to be huggers. I needn't screech on a daily basis, "Don't touch me!"
Anyway, I am going to Tucson a while to save money and dig the local art scene which is flurishing. Plus, I like the shady characters who haunt the downtown district. Outside of Denver, the hobos of Tucson are in a class all by themselves. After a few months in Tucson, I will then travel to San Antonio to stay with a couple of friends and then on to New Orleans to dig that scene. My final destination is Puerto Rico. Beautiful, cheap, international artist colony of Puerto Rico! No more excuses! Fuckin'-A, even my psychiatrist stated that I should get the hell out of Dodge. I am mired in a town of so-called artists who have grand schemes yet fall flat when it is time to exacute their endeavors. What. A. BORE! So, it is time for me to go. I will remain here for one more month only - I need to save a check or two, buy cheap, yet hip glasses (I've had the same pair for five years), indulge in a few more skirmishes with the local wild life - then its pffft! off to new adventures and high-brow excitement.
You want to come along?