The title of this week’s original song I penned in 1976, it comes with a story (I’m a writer, of course it does).
The scene is a little dive bar on Canal Street in Nogales, Mexico. The bartender was asleep when I entered through the shimmering red, white and green beads. There were three cracked-leather topped stools, none of which were the same height. The Formica-topped (also cracked) bar slanted to the point you had to hold onto your drink or risk The Slide off to the cement floor (also cracked). There was a rickety wooden staircase that ran diagonally up the adobe wall. Every time a “couple” would ascend the stairs, the hoots and catcalls would echo loudly through the laughter and music. As people filled up the five little round “cocktail tables” the night was on. An almost Pavlovian response to the excited crowd, the “manager” hit a button behind the bar and three young ladies magically appeared out of nowhere as the sound system started up.
I arrived with salacious visions and no common sense whatsoever. Oh, and an 812.00 check I received as a payment for a settlement. When I cashed the check with Felipe, the snoring barkeep, I instantly became the most popular guy in the whole place for some reason. All the girls wanted to be with me and my drink never got half-full. It did not suck. Not one bit.
Now, some 44 years later, I look back to that punk kid and laugh my ass off. What a dumb shit I was. I had no clue, but as I have mistakenly done my whole life, I don’t let little things like facts or reality get in the way. It’s three am now and I have been sitting at the same bar table for two hours as the dancing girls took turns jumping on the small tabletops and doing their thing. The whole scene was reminiscent of the movie Cocoon: At that moment in My Journey, I thought I would never get sick, never get old, and never die.
So, I was already drunk by any measurement of the condition, and what do I do? You guessed it, drink more.
I woke up around 10am and stumbled down the rickety staircase to the eye-searing sunlight outside. I had exactly seventeen dollars and a pocketful of pesos and one Headache of the Year candidate. I might have learned more that night than I ever did in any class I ever attended in my long educational odyssey. Only cost 795.00. Now THAT’s value.
This song is the result. Hope you like it.
Funny what that much Centenario Tequila can do to a person.
Here is where I insert my “drinking is not cool” disclaimer on my stories. It truly is a “there but for the Grace of God…” thing. Check out the good people at madd.org for the ridiculous numbers of people still departing this world due to drinking and driving.
They don’t know what they’re missing.
There, I’m done.