Night blanketed the City and I was in a foul mood. I strode quickly as I usually do over broken sidewalks of tin cans and shattered beer bottles. Ranchero music drifted from a hundred cantinas as I darted past a foul smelling alley way that hosted a grungy hotel nestled in a block of vacant, gloomy buildings. A fat prostitute stood tottering on the corner blocking my way. I attempted to dash past her without incident. Nope. She wouldn't have it.
"Psst...psst. Fucky-sucky?" She croaked.
Normally I ignored these working girls, but as I previously stated, I was in a foul mood. I shot back, "Not my type, ya hippopotamus!" The retort was lost in translation because she kept up with the psst-psst as I darted around the next corner.
The reason for my nasty disposition was that through a series of ignorant circumstances, I had decide to stay in Juarez for another month. I was angry at my situation and regretted my decision. I sighed inward. Well, no use crying over spilled milk...
Walking towards the neon blasted cathedral, I thought of the outcome. My neighbors are down right idiots. Obnoxious, self-serving animals who care for nothing but their self gratification. Example: the building I rent is old. Obviously constructed in the late 1800's. With that said, the walls are thick stone made of adobe brick. In the summer, it acts as an oven, in the winter, a freezer unit. There are no luxuries like central gas or air. On the positive side, it is unique and has old style charm. However, on the right, resides an old fuck who blasts his ranchero music at full volume. It's so powerful, it comes right through those thick walls and drowns out anything I am attempting to listen too. I had asked him nicely once to please lower it in lieu I wished to watch and hear a program on television. Since then, he continues to do it only for attention. He'll sit out front waiting for me to burst out in a hostile rage. I never do, I simply leave and return much later. Machisimo fuck.
On the left side resides an ugly as fuck woman with four screaming kids. School of any kind is not free here, so the little darlings are at home 24/7 banging and hollering and crying all day long. Sigh.
The only time I have any peace to write or time to myself is when these retards are asleep. They all crash around ten at night and wake up - loudly - at 5am. The old fuck sits out front literally yelling good morning to everyone, even dogs.
My nerves have had it. I may or may not, but I have been checking out relocating to Boulder, Colorado. From what I hear, there is a large writer colony there and the Jack Kerouac School of Poets is nearby. I don't know. As of right now, I am one forlorn cowboy...