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July 2001
October 2001
Tijuana Gringo | |
Daniel's Journal | by Daniel Charles Thomas |
27 October 2001. |
"He's a poet," my landlord Rudi pointed at me, and smirked at his other friend in Spanish, "a poet in quote-marks, if you know what I mean."
We were sitting around the metal table in his restaurant kitchen. The last customers left half an hour ago. His two workers washed dishes, swept, and put away leftovers for tomorrow. The friend glanced at me, and shrugged. Yes, I thought, we know what a bitch Rudi is -- but we love him.
Rudi finished his glass of beer, got up, went off to the bathroom.
"What was that about?" the other asked me. "Aren't you the gringo who wrote the poem he framed on the wall?"
"Yes."
"What has happened now to make his corajeness point at you?"
"I read him the beginning of a verse the other night, but he wouldn't let me go any further than a line about a beggar who warned me to beware of thieves on the street."
"Oh? So?"
"Rudi blew up and screamed at me. Said I was abusing and insulting Tijuana, and that I should be run out of the country."
"Mmm. Well you know him -- he only wants to be surrounded by Luis Miguel impersonators."
We laughed.
Rudi came back, grumbling, "Ah yes, Gringo, I think I'm going to have to invoke article thirty-three and have you thrown out of Mexico."
His friend leaned forward, a mischievous grin on his face, "Are you sure you wouldn't rather invoke article sixty-nine?"
Rudi chuckled, shaking his head, "Ay no, what a horrifying idea! Espantoso! Horroroso!"
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