Okay, just one. I’m quite fluish today, and need to get to sleep and get up tomorrow and find just the right balance of coffee and cough syrup to get through a long day at work.
Please enjoy another installment in my series, Adventures in Mexican Regional Transit, which is tentatively called “Things I Want to Say, but Don’t, Part I,” because I have a thing for really long titles.
See you next week. Feel free to comment, as always.
I step off the bus in front of the taxi stand. Four drivers sit on the bench in the shade, giggling and slapping each other on the back. One signals to me and calls out, “Taxi?” I hold the back of my hand up to him to answer thanks but no thanks, and turn to my right. The sight of you makes me stop for a moment, and I swing my head back to the drivers, who begin laughing harder, one almost falling off the bench.
I walk to a spot behind you, trying not to look until you can’t see me. I find a space where there is enough space between me and the others to light a cigarette and take you in. Knee high boots with low heels. Cut off shorts, cut up high enough to show a hint of buttock, so close in the crotch that we can almost see it all. The cropped vest, showing off your midriff, and yes, I can see that you take care, your stomach flat and tight.
An old man walks behind you, looks you up and down, shakes his head in disbelief. A pickup, three workers in the cab and another six in the bed passes by, slows down, the men whistling, kissing the air, calling out, “Mamacita!”
You look down the road, focused on the numbers of the buses as they approach, trying to ignore them, but your mouth purses in irritation and you flip your head away from them.
I want to say, “Well, you should have thought about before you left the house dressed like that, young man.” But I don’t.
My song choice for this week is, well, obvious.