1-6-2008

    "I have a bad feeling about tonight," Erick said. "I already know. I can feel it."
    "So you had a premonition?" I asked.
    "I don't know what the fuck-- but I'm pretty sure I'm going down tonight. Here's the plan: I'll take out my uncle but you survive to tell my tale."

    After his uncle picked us up, we stopped at the local neighborhood liquor store and picked up a six pack to finish in the car on the way to the bar. Erick hated the bars his uncle took him to.
    This bar was sandwiched between two dirt roads. Woman who looked like dying trees stood outside, pacing the cracked sidewalk underneath the one neon sign that said "Corona." Inside the green concrete rectangle was a divided room: caballeros on one side and damas on the other. Waiters with wet brows and crooked mustaches weaved between the empty middle tables. A four person band set up in the corner.
    "Victor, just do what I do. Just stare at the beer in front of you. If you look at any of the girls, they'll think you want to talk to them and they'll just make you buy them more beer."
    Erick's uncle sparked conversation with a mash-up between Chyna and Xena, but as thick and unwieldy as an oak. Her grin had two missing teeth, and she kept ordering beers. The uncle kept saying her body was perfect and she had a nice smile, and asked if she minds walking around him for a closer look. She laughed when she did, and he licked his lips and wiped the sweat off his neck. Erick and I kept staring at the bucket of now empty beers.
   

    Work? Nah, no thanks.
Let's go.