My Favorite Mexican Word Is Guacala

I was at El Harem last night…

Tonight I have a date and not a lot matters until that hour arrives.

Well, maybe my first drink.

Aside from drinking,

I’m shadow boxing in my cell.

A few push ups.

X another day off the calendar.

The music is coming pretty loud through the speakers too.

I can’t do anymore for the Job, I just can’t.

I won’t.

I refuse.

Sundown, I made it this far.

Soon I’ll be able to shower.

It’s not what you think.

There’s no water pressure here during the day.

You can only shower early mornings or evenings if you desire more than a trickle.

Then there’s the sewer bubbling up and all the distinct smells- taco diarrhea, old man pissed himself, guacamole guacala, and other sensual violations too horrible to describe.

I suspect bodies rotting there underground.

There’s a predilection for decapitation and severing limbs down here.

American appetite for Mexican drugs provides for much death, innocents and otherwise.

Torreon? Guacala. I’m going down to Oaxaca.


About npeligeiro

N. Peligeiro is still trying his hand at teaching and learns more as he goes. He doesn’t subscribe to that whole “those who can’t do, teach” theory and he repents for being less than a model student back in Minnesota when he was young and knew he knew it all. Currently Mr. Peligeiro is probably somewhere in South America, but it’s hard to say because he moves around a lot and burns through money because he has a space between his two front teeth that he hasn’t gotten fixed yet even though an old Chinese sage told him it was bad physiognomy and he’d always have financial problems while the space remained. He likes to write when he’s got something to say. When he doesn’t he keeps his mouth shut and his pen capped.
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