space is a lonely town

After a month of let downs and dead ends, amid a torrential thunderstorm I jumped the train in Santa Fe and headed south. Casually chatting with a handsome, yet intoxicated ex-service man of the Bagdad conflict now riding the rails to San Antone as a wayward tramp (he casually lifts his pant leg to reveal a gunshot wound from a hobo camp skirmish the evening prior. The leg is bandaged with a dirty rag), the vast prairies and Indian adobes slink by under the intermittent flash of gray mottled skies.

I debark in Albuquerque once again and wait in the vast echoing hall of the station amid the insane and the destitute of fellow travelers. Board the Greyhound and hunker down for the long night trip to Yuma. The journey is uneventful and equally uncomfortable. No matter how ‘modern’ the line upgrades their carriages – wifi, electrical outlets, new faux leather seats – it does not ever comfort the moaning pain of the despairing excursion.

Outside the rattling window, pine trees turn to shrubs, shrubs to cactus as we meander down through the lonesome Southwest towards the golden aura of the Mexican border. The sky abruptly transforms from dark grey to brilliant blue, the temperature from numbing cold to torrid heat. Through Gallup and their isolated donut shop, through Flagstaff and Gila Bend, Phoenix and Tucson – the trip is unbearably long.

We hit Yuma, Arizona by afternoon and to my surprise I am not let off at the station I remembered, but a brand new sprawling mega mall. I hail a taxi to my hotel on the other side of town. The hotel is inexpensive, but comfortable. I idle a couple of days, lounging by the pool sipping coffee and smoking cigarettes joking with friends online in lieu of resting before my next disaster of misfortune and ill decision. Tomorrow I will seek out the Crossroads Mission and reside there while I again attempt to seek what I need in public housing and medical attention.

However, I attain positive feelings of this town…the constant warmth, the small size, the Mexican border with San Luis pueblo just waiting on the other side to explore…the nearby military base and the one gay bar I am certain the service men frequent…I think this might be the place I have been looking for…

proximity

You never take the middle urinal. Obviously. He knew that. But he couldn’t help himself. A set of three urinals with the middle one free was his lucky day. It wasn’t so that he could eye up their penises, although he did when he felt like he could get away with it. No, it was the closeness he craved. He liked standing shoulder to shoulder to other men like himself. If the urinals were close enough, and they didn’t have those separators between them (he hated those), he could even brush elbows with them, or press into them. He always apologized, profusely and usually until the guy told him to stop, but that was all just a show: he lived for those elbow brushes and shoulder touches. One time he got lost in the moment and fully leaned into a man on his right. The man finished and then punched him, dislocating his jaw and sending him to the ground. He pissed all over himself, but he didn’t really mind. It was uncomfortable and it was embarrassing, sure. But it was warm.

Billy Nayer

Sitting on my rusty dusty in a Starbucks in downtown Santa Fe with the border blues creeping in. The Billy Nayer Show tooting through my headphones, the gentrified place is pregnant with the rich and well to do...you know, real assholes. A young blond strolls in. I remember talking with him when I first arrived a month ago. Cody was his name, he was to train jump to San Francisco. We chatted about trips and locales and far away adventures, he is gay to be sure. The type of rail thin blond Adonis which old fat rich men masturbate to. To nail the assumption, a floppy haired twink in an over sized red sweater crashes into the cafe and sits with his older Cody. The flash in their eyes stated that they were in love. How romantic.

I explain to young Cody it is my last day in Santa Fe. I purchased a ticket yesterday to Yuma, Arizona. I had always wanted to check it out and I thought why not? It has to be better than this retirement home of a town. My transport leaves at the queer hour of midnight and then to all points south like a sinking diving bell, cables severed...