Sunday, January 4, 2015
SOUTH OF THE BORDER
South of the border, garlands of flowers hang around every neck, a smile on every face, a can of cheap watery beer in each hand. There are burros, and horses, and gringos, and ladies selling trinkets, and tacos float down softly from the clouds as if they have parachutes. When I am there, I will be walking 1 foot off the ground, that is to say I will be walking suspended in the air twelve inches, not hopping along on one foot. In fact perhaps I will be moonwalking through the air, observing everything as I walk away from it. but then I would see tasty things too late and already be on my way away from them. No, fuck that, I will walk forwards.