I had luck locating a furnished room to
rent for the month between Madero and Revolucion on 5th street
downtown. A modern and clean joint for $260 a month. Packing my shit, I left
the San Jorge and hopped a cab to settle in.
It was the 4th of July
weekend and I was leery of finding a spot on account of the massive influx of
Americans clogging the streets to celebrate Independence Day. It worked out in
the end. After unpacking and chatting with the kind landlady, I made my way to
the Praga Café nearby and sat drinking the best coffee ever. Sat and thought.
And thought some more. What the fuck was I doing here? I have actually grown
weary of Tijuana and all the diversions it has to offer. Oh shut, how I have
become such a recluse. I debated simply booking another flight and flinging
myself up to Provo, Utah to await public housing and wither away unnoticed
until my old age.
Instead, I began to form plans within
plans. Perhaps to remain in TJ and finish that book. Afterwards to rent a place
on the beach or continue on to South East Asia. I don’t know yet. I feel so
lost.
The following day, after showering and
getting dressed, I took a clunky bus out to playas and walked around. The sea
was so pleasant and the sounds so soothing. Funny note: I stopped to munch on
some fish tacos when this old hag plopped next to me and attempted to seduce me
with her feminine whiles. I dropped the fag bomb which ruined her entire
scheme. She mentioned that she used to know another American, another writer
who lived on the beach named Robert Smallwood. “Yeah, I used to know him.” I
said. She then went into a passionate soliloquy on her undying love for this
man. I stated I hadn’t seen him for years, last I saw he was in Cuba or Spain. She
continued blathering about him and I couldn’t eat my tacos fast enough. I paid
and left.
At the Praga, I came into acquaintance
with an American getting teeth work. An independent film-maker named Randy
Atkins. He did a film titled ARSENAL OF HYPOCRISY, made a name for himself. We
both sat and chatted. Talked of film and writing. Seemed a good guy.
I excused myself and returned to my
room. I lay in the darkness mired in indecision and anxiety. I really have no
idea what I want. If I want anything at all.
The following morning, I ran into Randy
once again and we both toured around the beach talking of interests and such. I
really put on a pleasant mask, because my only desire was to lay down and stop
breathing. It has become that dire. I really am done with this whole mortal
coil thing.
A ver.
No comments:
Post a Comment