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By chris Date: 2006 Feb 09 Comment on this Work [[2006.02.09.20.23.19475]] |
| Albuquerque's West Central Avenue after dark feels like Vegas. A bad part of Vegas - someplace along the Strip between the big shiny new casinos on the one end and the Fremont Street outdoor laser show on the other. And that's not good. I find myself there tonight while you and our stepson sit waiting for the chingada tax people to get their act together and call our name. What's the point of an appointment? But I walk downhill for a few blocks, where Old Route 66 descends from the mesa on the west side of the city, looking for someplace to buy cigarettes. No luck. Just a dimly-lit shop selling "exotic adult novelties" that we don't need. There's broken glass on the sidewalk, and police cruisers prowl the drag, looking for lost white boys like myself trying to score some weed or maybe pick up a hooker. The writing on the wall reminds me that this is gangland, too. Good. I almost forgot. But do I care? That's not the question, essa. Nothing can happen to me because I'm throwin' down for you these days. We're representing each other - por vida! - and riding that big blue crashing wave of destiny into the white sand beaches of our deepest dreams. I look over my shoulder. Gangbangers lack irony. Among other things. Yeah, a smoke would be good, but nothing beats the rush I get thinking of you. And you know I love you. You know I live for you. This much I can be certain of. But you don't know the half of it, chica. Ay, mi chiquita... And what the hell does destiny look like, anyway? Some hot lazy afternoon this summer we'll go down to those lakes in the desert they have around here. We'll stand staring into the waveless water at our reflection looking back. Then you'll see. |