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By chris Date: 2007 May 29 Comment on this Work [[2007.05.29.19.30.21085]] |
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I actually don't mind it. Wal-Mart, that is. Political correctness was never my strong suit. And the day La Montanita Co-Op has shorts for five bucks and jalapeno beef jerky and a cutlery set for $1.94 and "Talk Radio" (Oliver Stone at his paranoid best) in the DVD bargain bin I'll shop there. I'm moving north by northwest somewhere between the respective regions of clothes and food, having just purchased my entire summer wardrobe for mere pennies in the grand scheme of things, and it's your voice I hear on my cell: "We're making tacos, so we need shells, of course, and some kind of beef - shredded beef - and the dry chile pods. No gabacho chile tonight - the real stuff, como que no? So let me know when you're in the meat section. OK, get a roast. No! Not an arm roast! A rump roast would be more like it. Eye roast? Ejole! Do I need to come down there? I changed my mind. No tacos. All this animal- part talk has me grossed out. Get the big bag of pinto beans instead..." The lights in the store dim momentarily, like the way the sun clouds over before a summer storm or during an eclipse. I reach for two boxes of sopaipilla mix and the woman and her four kids perusing the pretty blue boxes of lard look up. Outside, filigreed shadows skirt along the foothills, pushed by a hot, dry wind. But in here the temperature never changes. |