Sometime last week, must have been a Tuesday, I was taking my little girl to school. Every morning, since the day her big brother went to junior high, it would be just the two of us making the trip, taking the metro.
Anyway, that morning, there were a lot of people, I mean a lot, too many, on the Line 9 platform. As the train, which was late, came to a stop, the mad crowd pushed Alice away from me. So she went in with the flow, looking back over her shoulder every now and then to make sure I was still there. The mob was so strong and compact in the train that I couldn’t catch up with her. Continue reading
I was in Münster, Germany, hanging with Harald in this local bar, local meaning poor, hanging meaning drinking beer by the gallon having not much to say and slowly but steadily getting fucked up. And so it was with the other patrons.
This was no party atmosphere. Just guys, workers, in the sad part of town dreaming of better days.
The taxi driver didn’t give me a chance to say anything. “La Zona rosa?” he asked. I saw all the Christian stuff on his dashboard so I said “sure, why not.” I had arrived in Mexico City earlier during the day, checked in a cheap hotel in some far periphery. In the evening, I was thinking about eating somewhere since, being in Mexico City, I might as well. So some Indian girl at the office called for a cab. And that’s how it went.
“Bonjour,” I said and I knew the cab driver would have a story to tell his wife next morning. He seemed to like that I was French although I spoke no Spanish. He kept saying: “Zona Rosa, good, good,” each time winking at me in his rear-view mirror.
“It’s cold,” said Sarah.
“Yeah, that’s how it is in the desert,” said Claire.
They were at a crossroad, in Peru, in the middle of the Altiplano desert, in the middle of the night. And it was freezing cold.
It was a warm Saturday night in Chicago. I was living on 17th place in a grim part of town and it was late and I was drinking beer with Ric on the front steps. Which goes to show that Ric and I didn’t have much going on a Saturday night. At best we had tacos and a smile from a Mexican whore or two.
So we were drinking.
It was nice out there and we were in no hurry. If I want, I can even remember the moon.