I’m craving some sunshine, a hot heat hit of warm weather with my boy holding my hand. This mad gray world fills my space, a cloudy brain at the freezing point of water. I’m made of it, drenched pores in cold, skin made as stone. I’m happy though, flesh and blood in a blanket of loving memory, may he rest in peace, may she, may they come together in flame. Procession of thoughtbeat, flickers of trees leaning toward the ocean in endless rows. Legends, blurred.
I love you my darling, I hold you, you’re mine.
From the restaurant in Tijuana we could see very little. Bright stores packed corner to corner with tasteless trinkets. Wrestling masks, sombreros, stones polished into aztec suns with inset mirror eyes. Everything was decayed, the buildings cracked and the street torn open, leaving sewage to air. Our food was delicious, though we made sure our drinks were bottled. The staff was kind, smiling because we couldn’t quite communicate. Only the headman knew passable english. He walked me to the lavatory, taking my arm and promenading me past the empty dancefloor, streamers brushing my hair in time to the dated music.
I left Alastair at the table and I held his hand when we walked the street. He looked like a tourist, a skinny brit in a yellow jacket. I don’t know what I looked like, but everyone assumed I knew Spanish. Trickling comprehension began to solidify in my brain. Frustrating to understand and not be able to reciprocate. I’ve never been called a wife so many times in my life. Walking, I wanted to memorize the city. Blade runner lights off in the distance, we went north to an arch scraping the lowest bits of sky. There were no stars through this pollution, only planets spinning brightly above. Under the arch was darkness, a dead sign hanging from wires, REVOLUTION, the beginnings of wary interaction with a dangerous city. There was a circle there, streets spoking off in all direction. We went right, where the lights were. More tourist shops piled to the ceiling with nothing worth looking at.