Thursday, April 10, 2014

Bummed out on Calle Noche Triste

I sat in the Plaza las Armas amid languidly sitting locals - all were accounted for: the shabby elderly, the outcast, the junkies, the lovers, the perverts, the vendors. I sat and vapidly listened to the preacher on with a megaphone dictate how all is evil and corrupt. I agreed.
I sat and watched a shoe shine boy scrub the frayed leather of a fat queen who sat on the concrete bench plotting to get the preteen lad back to his lair and suck the youth out of him. The fat queen's eyes met mine and fire flared out in defensive awareness that there was another homosexual in his immediate surroundings. I sighed. The kid's too young, you evil bastard.
Haggish woman approaches me as she made her rounds with outstretched dirty hand. "One peso?" I shook my head and she sneered away.
The depression was hitting again. The frequencies closer than before. Why am I here? Why am I still alive? There is nothing I want. Nothing that interests me. I want nothing. I said previously that I had a pleasurable apartment - how long will that last. The thought surfaces again in my mind that all I want to do is simply lay down and stop breathing. To go away. To simply stop.

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