Saturday at noon, go get something to eat. As I leave, the regulars are coming out on the stoop. Charles has a white plastic sack, with fifth of cheap bourbon in it. I drove down the avenue, where a lone street preacher was preaching the gospel in Spanish, to whoever would listen, which was nobody, at least so far.
The preacher’s children were sitting on the bare, hot concrete of the parking lot. His wife was sitting in a folding chair, attentive. Mexican vendors were in the empty parking lots, cooking grilled chicken over wood fires. Big grey plumes of smoke marked them for blocks. They make some GOOD chicken, let me tell you. The usual hookers walking around, and some new ones too. I parked the car on the side of my favorite restaurant, Flor de Chiapas. It is run by a Mexican family, from Chiapas, of course. Previously it had been called “Super Pollo”. Then, the owner had gotten busted, and the police discovered many kilos of cocaine stashed in the cinder block walls. I order three tacos, and they are as usual, very good.
Down at the end building hot, loud words, as the argument from Friday night continues. Call me a racist, call me what you will, NO ONE fights like blacks do. It’s that ghetto, “I don’t take no shit off nobody.” They really get into it, and when it starts, it is time to RUN. Conversely, blacks can be very sweet, very considerate.
Hmm.. on the other hand, most serial killers are white. The really bad ones, like Gerald Stano, or Pee Wee Gaskins, they were white. Pee Wee Gaskinz might may well have been, the meanest person who ever lived. It’s hard to believe someone could be so mean!
It takes time to get used to people. A long time. They’re always fighting..who did what to who, who ripped off whom. *Groann* Who knows why things happened? You are just a witness, that is all. You sort of witness people.