Wednesday, March 30, 2016

right here right now


Under the blast of a vibrant golden sky the pueblo of Tucson hummed with hipster activity. Coffee shops, used record stores, and neon signed eateries stood plastered with garage band fliers and notices of local art shows...
...a three foot fag with a blond pompadour stood in the entrance of a hair salon smiling moronically, wringing small, stubby hands. As the Olds chugged by, he noticed me gawking and curtly mouthed, “How do?”...
Drunken Indians shuffled through Ronstadt Station waving away attacks of phantom cowboys under the red flickering neon of Hotel Congress, hub of homosexual hipness... homeless teens played hacky-sack outside the Mayor’s Office as El Primo peered through closed blinds with silent, frustrated lust...Tall cactus and angular rock formations set the back drop for Road Runner cartoons.

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