I entered my apartment after a long morning shopping to find
Manny reclining on my bed wearing only his boxers. He was watching a Mexican
novella. I paused and smiled at him before placing my bundles onto the white
tiled floor.
“What did you do today?”
“I’m doing it.” He stated, not turning his glare from the
television.
“Are you hungry?”
“A little.”
I plopped onto the bed, lying next to him perpendicular with
my legs hanging off the side. I semi-consciously planned it because my face was
at the level of his crotch.
“Well, what do you feel like eating?” I breathed as my hand
slinked along his dark legs, bristling the black, shiny hairs. My eyes focused
on the thick lump at his crotch.
“I don’t know.” Manny said. “Chicken?”
“Chicken?” I repeated as my hand slid over his boxers. “You
want chicken? Well, I know what I want…” I continued as my wayward hand found its
mark. The thick and flaccid organ lay dormant on a bed of course, black hairs.
I also noticed that the area was quite moist. My hand paused. Did he recently
masturbate?
“No.” Manny mumbled, taking my hand gently away.
“Why not? I promise I’ll make you feel good…” I cooed as my
hand returned to that fleshy pulp and began lasciviously massaging it.
“No!” He barked.
I continued playfully.
“I said no!” He snapped pushing my hand away.
I lay there a moment propped up on one elbow letting the
sting of his refusal ebb away. Finally, “So, you want to get dressed and go
eat? We can hang around downtown until your bus leaves.”
Manny petulantly dressed and we headed out into the
late-afternoon sun. We walked toward Zona Norte and into the whore district
because for some reason prostitutes really like chicken. Or so I am guessing,
because there are a shit load of fried chicken joints to choose from.
Coahuila was bustling with pedestrians, foreign sexpats, and
an assortment of scantily clad hookers tottering on high heels situated on
every grimy, trash littered corner. Quacking at us “Ven…ven” as we passed.
Various musical styles blasted from a hundred whorehouses bathed in a kaleidoscope
of flickering neon as the congested streets were clogged with orange and white
taxis delivering horny clients ready for a Friday night’s fucking.
Manny and I located a small restaurant near the corner of
Constitution and Coahuila. We sat at the grease filmed wooden tables and
ordered. I casually flicked a scurrying cockroach off the table’s edge and
hurdled it out the door into the blackened gutter. Bull’s eye.
I sat and watched the passing throng of pedestrians. Mostly
conning locals, a few street dogs, very little bewildered tourists. An old hag
dressed in urine soaked rags dug through a mound of garbage for scraps to eat.
I turned my stare towards Manny.
“Excited about going home?” There was not the least hint of
concern in my voice.
“Yeah. Thank you for the ticket, man.”
“Well, you are welcome. It’s not every day that I do this
for people. Most of the times I am cold and dispassionate toward anyone’s
problems.”
“Then why did you help me?”
Good question. I decided to keep the conversation light. I
smiled, “I can never refuse a pretty face.”
Manny laughed, “I’m not pretty!”
“No…you are definitely handsome. And you know how to use
that dick.”
He nervously chuckled, scanning around the eatery to see if
anyone was listening to my faggoty shit. The weary mesera served us our order
and we tore into that fried chicken like famished jackals.
Afterwards we ambled over to the bus station on the east
side of Revolucion, close to the Arch. The place was crowded. Single men with
backpacks, families with suitcases and bundles tied with rope, and Manny with
nothing but the clothes he was wearing. Mexican or Stateside, bus stations
always brought me down. The waiting place of the world pregnant with folk who
are not happy in their time/space location pining to get anywhere else but
where they are at that moment. Just like me, I suppose.
I purchased the ticket and handed it to Manny. He mumbled
thanks or something equivalent. We stood mostly silent watching the carnival
around us. Great buses belching black smoke arrived and departed, vendors
weaved through the throng crying out their wares: blankets, pillows, pizza,
tamales…
It was finally time for Manny to return to Sinaloa. We
bumped fists and gave one another a man hug, mumbled adios. I stood there like
a fool watching his raggedy bus pull out of the station and with a great fart
of black smoke, rumbled away eastward...
I walked out of the station and lit a cigarette.
With a deep sigh filled with anxiety and loneliness, I lost myself in a million
stories of this ominous city…
No comments:
Post a Comment