Jose Rodriguez - Snapshots of Modern Love

A couple of customers walked in and sat on the stools. Before taking their orders Johnny looked at me one more time and said "Don' t listen to fools. I' m an old crank and un-educated but ain' t a fool."

When I left Al' s that night my mind was made up. I would follow the old coot' s advise and stay out of any funny business. If I didn' t get killed flying aerial junk I may eventually get a job that would pay a living wage. Maybe.

Of course, good intentions, nothing but mental hogwash, cannot stand against the hard facts of reality. When I pulled into the trailer park Tony was waiting for me on the steps of our dilapidated hovel. His things stood next to his second hand Camaro. I got out of my fifth hand wreck and walked toward him.

"Moving out?" I asked.

"Yes," he said, then smiled and added," We are."

"We?"

"Yes man. Pack your shit and let' s go to my new place."

"I cannot afford a new place. I can' t barely afford this dump."

"Don' t worry. It’ s on me." Tony grinned like a devil.

There are those decisive moments in your life that mean the difference between what it is and what could have been. You know them, you recognize them years later when you look back and wham! It hits you right between the eyes. Then you say to yourself," if I only had done this, or that" and you know that your life would have been quite different. I don' t want to say it would have been better, I just mean different. I gave up long time ago trying to second guess missed opportunities and how good things could have been. That' s bullshit. All I know for sure is if I had acted differently at those decisive moments, things would have been different for sure, but I dare not to say they would have been better, or worse. I leave that to God or whoever is in charge.

Standing in front of Tony, looking past him and through the door of the trailer at the squalor inside, that was a decisive moment in my life. At the time it looked like just a decision between living like white trash or like white people, between sweating between wet sheets or sleeping in air conditioned, a choice that bore not much debating. Today I know it was a choice between minding my own business, like Johnny had told me, or getting dragged into Tony' s.

I packed my things and went with Tony. That night I slept in a dry bed without a big fan at the bottom of the bed blowing hot and humid air through my toes. Man, that was life. It was the beginning of anew life, for better or for worse; up to this day I don' t care to debate which one. Like the Catholics say, it was God' s will.

"And now!… from Miami!… here she is on the center stage! Deboraaaaah! Please gentlemen, give her a hand!"

Booming music stifles the D.J.' s stentorian voice. Nobody claps. Debbie in high heels ambles on stage wearing a translucent negligee and a G-string stippled with sequins. The pumps chafe her feet and her crotch flares in a rash of too many close shaves and sweat. But she smiles and her dimples, so wholesome and cute, form above her thin lips.

Money sits in front of her, inside the pockets of drunks and on the counters beside drinks and smoldering cigarette butts. Eyes, dazed, bright, drooling, and indifferent follow her. She bends over and grabs her heels exposing her derriè re to a fat, bearded guy, the one with drooling eyes. She knows by instinct which one will let go of his money; it' s just a matter of showing the right part, of playing the perfect slut.

Drooling Eyes smiles and flicks a dollar bill in his fingers. Debbie turns around and squats in from of him, wide and inviting, and runs her hand from her crotch along the inside of her leg to the garter where a couple of crumpled greenbacks await company. She lifts her belt and Drooling Eyes slides the dollar bill in a long and slow path along her thigh, rubbing his wedding ring on her skin, and his eyes brighten as his hand inches toward her belt.

"Thanks honey," Debbie says.

"Anytime babe," he says.

She kisses him on the cheek, stands and does a complete turn on stage, dancing as she searches for more tips. She wishes she had big tits, then she could shake those babies like Cynthia on the left stage does, round and round, like udders under a running milk cow. But she knows a few tricks of her own, like splits and bending over far enough to touch her forehead on the floor, and undulating her pelvis in provoking ripples.

The flashing overhead lights bring a sweat to her skin that takes after the juice exuding from a meatball under a heat lamp. That' s right, a meatball, a piece of meat, she thinks. She still has three more hours to go. She smiles and her dimples, so wholesome and cute, form above her thin lips.

With such a smile she ought to be working down the road at Disney, Helen told her, wearing a polyester suit and greeting tourists in to the monorail. Grandmothers in flowered sack-like dresses and screaming brats wearing rat ears are not her bag though, Debbie knows.

She leans back until her palms rest flat on the floor. Her legs spread and her belly pulsates in waves of flesh. The money is right there in front of her, twisted around the fingers of a hand yearning to touch her.

"My feet are killing me," Debbie says to Helen as they both step into the parking lot after closing time, gym bags under their arms.

"Them bunions gettin' too big girl."

Neon signs along O.B.T. glow through the veil of a sultry ground fog. Red and Blue lights flash across the road where cops and paramedics gather like vultures around a figure lying on the ground.

"Damn, I' m parked right there," complains Helen.

They cross the street and land on the sidewalk just as the paramedics push a gurney into the ambulance. Drooling Eyes lies on it, wrapped in bandages and tubes stuck in his arm and up his nose.

"What happened?" Debbie asks a deputy.

"Got mugged," says the deputy. "Where' re you two going this late?"

"We' re parked right there," says Helen, pointing to her beater.

"I' ll walk you to your car. Who knows where that mugger is hiding."

"Thank you sir."

They drive north on O.B.T., right through Nigger town where the black whores stand on the corners flagging cars down, and Debbie is grateful that she is not working the streets, but has a nice, legal job instead.

First thing, Tony and I would fly around the countryside in a Cub or a Champ, low and slow, put-put-put. You cannot believe the amount of shit growing out there. A forest fire would get the whole county high; I ain' t lying.

We would find the shit and then Mike would plan the snatching operation a lacommando, decked out in camies, faces painted, you know, the whole nine yards. Mike had been a Marine, one of those reckon guys, and he knows his stuff pretty well. We would get maps at the county office showing all the farmland and swamps so we knew where to go and hide, and how to get the hell out. I tell you, it was a real military operation, nasty work but fun.

Waddling in swamp water up to your armpits, watching out for water moccasins coming at your face, or a damn gator biting you in the ass, that wasn' t fun. The fun was getting to some Redneck' s pot and stealing it right from under his nose.

We got found out a couple of times, but by then we already had the shit and we were on our way out. Here we were, back in the swamp with a bale of green pot on our heads and the water around us would explode with a sharp crack, you know, fucking bullets aimed at us hitting the water. Damn, they came close. I suppose had we had antlers them rednecks wouldn' t have missed. I can picture my ugly head hanging on some shack' s wall," Yup, I got them Yankee mahself, stealin' mah pot."

We made good money selling the stuff to college students and bikers. I' m walking on money right now, two hundred and fifty dollars worth of it; these fancy snake skin boots are so damn soft they won' t stand straight when you get out of them.