When you walk down the hill, you have to wait to cross the street from the median.
From behind me I heard a loud crash. I looked up and saw that scaffolding was set up around a window. Within seconds I realized they were remodeling the fifth floor, and set up a trash chute to protect passersby.
This was not realized by the man across the street.
The man with disheveled hair and bulky clothing beckoned me urgently. I pretended I didn’t see him.
Then another crash.
His beckoning became more intense. Now he was mouthing “GET OVER HERE!” I could tell he was worried so I started pointing to myself and quizzically mouthed “ARE YOU TALKING TO ME?” I couldn’t cross the street because the light hadn’t changed. I was also at least thirty-feet out of harms way.
I finally crossed and he told me: “I WAS WORRIED ABOUT YOU.” He was happy that I’d manage to avoid getting injured by those crashes. I walked away worried that their might be something wrong with his depth perception.1 day ago • 1 note
I woke up with a headache. I threw a bag of frozen vegetables into chicken broth and called it soup. A girl that I once had feelings for told me she’d never met a boy who liked soup as much as me. We used to eat barbecue & pickle sandwiches then make out on her couch til sunrise. That was years ago. I sometimes think of her when I put on my counterfeit Adidas jumpsuit. I still find strands of white puppy hair that was shed on to that jacket. I wonder if I’d be able to recognize her dog today.
In February of that year I abstained from alcohol. I wanted a challenge, and figured that would be the easiest time to attempt it. During that shortened month, I drank coffee instead of beer. I remember a picture of me drinking a coffee at the 7-11 behind Alameda Central. My friend snapped a shot of the security screen filming me. That caffeine pumped me up for a wild night. We ate dinner at a Pozole chain, three blocks from the Zocalo. As we were paying a Canadian couple walked in. You could tell they were Canadian because it was written all over their fanny pack.
Earlier that day I’d bought a green shirt, so I could go to a “stop light party” in the Condesa. People in relationships wore red. People who were unsure wore yellow. As I was in pursuit of a local romance, I wore green. After dinner, we walked to the Zocalo. Scouts from across the country descended on the capital to build the world’s largest fleur-de-lis. I remember being moderately amused. That caffeine started to wear off. I felt nervous, about going to the singles party. So did my friends. We pretended we were tired and walked back to the apartment. I ate half a can of chicken soup, and fell asleep.1 day ago • 5 notes
I’m not a Gen Xer but I think this clarifies how that generation influenced ours.1 day ago • 3 notes