#100
Cholita central.
I didn’t say it, but I was thinking it. Outside, a white Rollls Royce SUV pulls up and a very small man gets out, walks right in.
Inside, friends well into a few rounds of shots.
Me: What time did you get here?
Him: like a couple of hours ago. Came from work.
His breath was tequila.
I leaned over and gave his wife a kiss on the cheek, she put her hand on my leg. Her breath was vodka.
I liked it.
We danced, and later, one of the bartenders sent us something new, something he made up, shots, that we drank but didn’t register. I had to eat and downed chips, guac, anything I could get my hands on.
Her hand was on my thigh, now.
The DJ, she was dressed up. Halloween wasn’t for a few days. So maybe it wasn’t a costume. Hard to tell.
Me: hard to tell what’s a costume any more.
Her: you can’t say that.
Me: So sue me.
We danced. The music was, latin, pop, latin/pop, a bass that hit your lungs, punched the air out of them. I had just enough liquor to get me out there, just enough to not think about making a fool of myself. Just enough for my mind to cancel out.
Later, a desert sky, clear, starts. The Rolls was gone. She insisted I go with them. So I did.