Ernest Hemingway visits Frontera Fresco
It is cold outside, but I feel warm. The taste of Fresh-Made Jalepeño Cilantro Tortilla Chips reminds me of Pedro and Pedro's men. In the mountains of Spain. Pedro, a brave man, a man of a man. Pedro and I, sipping wine out of the Franzia box in the mountains, waiting for death. Pedro cleaning his gun.
Pedro's gone now.
My buzzer buzzes. I am handed my food. The Fresh-Made Jalepeño Cilantro Tortilla Chips were 3.75. My Chipotle Chicken + Roasted Vegetable Salad was 8.50. The Aqua Frescas 2.50. And my Short Rib Harache was $7.95. I have seen women available for less. In the hills of Pamplona.
The taste of the Short Rib Harache in my mouth reminds me of Pedro. And Pedro's men. And Julio and the Encarnancion brothers. I thought of the bullfight, and Pedro's death. These chips kind of blow.
I sipped my Aqua Frescas, and poured my tequila into it, and sipped my Aqua Frescas some more. I thought of the war. The Norris Cat Lady looked at me. I looked right back.
A hookup from three weeks ago was buying sushi from the Paws n' Go C-Store. She was neither good nor bad, but probably bad. We laid together, and we called each other thou. She danced to Taylor Swift and a song called Thrift Shop and we drank Smirnoff and Squirt.
The thought of the taste of Squirt reminded me of Pedro, and our hopeless mission. The Norris Cat Lady is asking me questions and I am saying nothing.
I sipped my Aquas Frescas. Rick Bayless has never seen war. Rick Bayless has never laid with a Medilldo and called her thou. I weigh the odds that Skip Bayless has laid with Tim Tebow and called him thou.
People look at me when I pour more tequila in my Aqua Frescas.
I left, and walked to Kresge, my thoughts cloudy and thinking of Pedro and our mission. I did not talk to the man at the table in Norris.
