the other day in his hotel room,
spanish newscaster blaring from the television welded in
a sweet saccharin/morphine taste in his mouth, and a
painful pressure in the base of his skull.
Cross-eyed, he stumbles
to the tiny sink bolted to the bare pink and green
concrete wall, inadvertently killing a giant
twice before he had this exact scenario played out,
leading hary to note some possible synchronicity, but the
pounding in his head quickly drowned out any
his skin felt rubbery and cold.
half way through picking the hair/soap muck from between
the blades in his last dis-
posable razor, the plywood door to the outside courtyard
exploded with ear crushing
"senior, es media dia."
hary makes his way to the door, "yea, uh, una dia
He slips a two hundred peso note through the huge gap
between door and wall.
the bill disappears as does the old man on the
hary loses interest in shaving and gets dressed. he had
been in this place for just under a week, and was
beginning the process
of blending in, even in the
he still, and would probably always, stand a head or two
over the locals,
and his ivory white skin didn't blend well with mexican
red, but his spanish was, at least, getting better.
moralia is a collage town, and like most such towns,
makes a reasonably good place for a gringo to disappear,
and develop a tan.
thousands of young mexicans flood the
day at about half past noon , crossing themselves as they
pass the basilica, drinking cappuccinos, flirting.
a student of human nature, and it was getting close to
noon. hary locks the padlock to his hotel room door,
and heads up the hill,
through taco and pirated musical recording vendors, to a
coffee shop off the main square, tripping over uneven
sidewalks, and stepping over ancient and identical indian
"una cafe americano, por favor."
hary stairs at the five hundred plus year old basilica,
and begins to entertain a thought; how is this different?
at home the first action of the
day would be to walk down a hill to a stikingly similar
coffee shop, and sit for hours watching people. and then
daily sociology class he might switch beverages to a nice
scotch or a cheap beer, strangely familiar to last nights
activities, the only difference being the two thousand
hary sipped his coffee slowly, thoughtfully,
"scotch is expensive in mexico."