Tuesday, February 27, 2007
You’re a visitor here
A tourist in a falling down city of lost souls
With my newspaper under my arm I head down the street.
It’s a windy day a day that can inspire a child.
They say we have the worst president in history.
They say our government can give a rat’s ass about us little people.
The cab drivers the waitress the window washers the whores the winos the people that make the city a colorful place to live.
“Huh, what a prick.”
I think to myself as I walk past two transvestite whores.
I turn the corner and run into a good friend.
Basco Billy Bones.
Basco is a one-armed Armenian, Mexican, Pilipino.
He runs a newsstand on the corner of 4th and Broadway.
“Howya doing Harold?’ he laughs. Basco has a great smile.
His smile almost covers his whole face.
His rotting teeth screaming to the world not shy for all to see.
“Howya been Basco my friend.”
“Oh been better.”
"Oh well the cop’s muscle me every time they get a chance."
"And Arleta Jones my girl went back to join the circus."
"NO Shit!" I say slack jawed.
Arleta Jones was Basco's old woman for 12 years.
She worked for many years in the circus as a contortionist.
Arleta was from Miami where she was smuggled over from Cuba by an alpaca rancher named Herb Faust. Herb used smuggle people over from Cuba all the time. For him it felt like he was doing a great service. Until that is, INS agents shot him. That was all in the 80’s sometime.
Arleta wasn’t happy. She needed the circus. So now poor Basco is all-alone.
“Isn’t that a kick in the head?” I put my arm around him to console him a bit.
“I lost my job I tell him.”
So we comfort each other.
We laugh out pain away.
We both head over to a bar and go in.
Some days everything really does seem okay.
I’d trust a wino before I trust a politician.