Tues, the 9th of May, I took off at 9:00 PM on the Ejecutivo bus from the Mazatlan central bus station and headed for Baton Rouge. I had three pieces of luggage that weighed at least 75 lbs each. At times, it was a real hassle and at times my inept security methods turned out to be laughable. In the end, I don't think anything was missing. Besides, there wasn't much to take except a few things I was carrying in my personal bag which went with me every second of the day.

Hell, I thought I was going to get breaks between towns and have enough time to eat, drink and be merry; not this trip. As I approached each stop on the way to my destination, everyplace but one, my bus left in less than 30 minutes. Unfortunately, in the middle of the night, we crossed the "Devils Backbone", one of the most scenic parts of the Sierra Nevadas in Mexico. Looking at the several hundred foot drop-offs might have taken a little joy out of the trip, but all in all, with a hit of Valium, I slept OK, all night, and arrived safe and sound in Monterrey the next morning. I did this trip the other way around, back in the sixties and in a 57 VW bus but that was so far back in time, I don't remember a damn thing.

By this time, the buses were starting to get crowded and instead of the ejecutivo class, I was on the next level down. There is a huge quality difference most of the time and yes, I hit the big downward slide. Some seats didn't recline, they were lumpy and you couldn't sit alone and stretch out. Some inconsiderate bitch behind me yapped loudly, at an irritating pitch, for at least two hours on her cell phone. I wanted to strangle her and shove that cell phone up her ass but I calmly turned around after being pushed over the edge and told her that the calls were ANNOYING, VERY ANNOYING and I suggested she go into the restroom to continue. Of course, I'm sure, I was branded as a person on the lunatic fringe but goddamnit she quit the high pitch telephone action, moved to a different seat and was convinced what had happened was similar to Al Quaeda on a flight to hell. I was then able to go to sleep. Several people around me quietly said thank you. It's amazing how one can be pushed over the limit from sleep deprivation, being stuffed in a bus seat with too many people sweating and breathing, with not much food and not much to drink but sugar water that's supposed to taste like grape juice.

We got into Laredo, Texas around 6:30PM and that was the first time I had a chance to think about real food and somthing special to drink. By this time, special is meaning like a cold Budweiser. I conned my way into a special secure bus station office that would allow me to store my baggage for free. I did tip the gentleman 5 bucks but it was worth every penny. The situation was purely the opposite of my conflict with the cell phone bitch. No problem. I took off on a quest for at least a beer and a tavern meal. The old part of Laredo was looking good. It had been refurbished like a lot of older US towns and out of nowhere, I ran across the Hooligan Sports Bar. It was cool inside, a change from the 112 F heat outside. The place was well run aside from the fact a couple of Mexican Americans had owned and operated the place for only two weeks. I opted for the Killian's Red, in the big icy mug and an order of Spicey Chicken wings. That was a first in over six years for me. I was feelin good.

I needed to get back before my buddy who stashed my bags went off duty so I was out of there by a little after 7:30PM. O n the way I saw two or three homeless white folks collecting carboard on the street. I said something nice to one guy and he copped an attitude. Yea, back home again and easily descernable you're in the US with all the bums on the street. Luckily, America throws so much away, there's enough for millions of elastic impressionists and their American culture art, plus, enough for the homeless to live their eccentric lives insulting, screaming, drugging out or just being helpless in the hands of ill fated circumstances.

On the next crowded bus, especially indicative of riding the good ol Greyhound, it hit me again that I should have gotten an education in something other than Theater Arts. But then almost immediately, my street smarts kicked in, I thought about the good times in Mexico, I thought about the years of music, art, sex, travelling and once again got in lock step with my fate. With a smile on my face and that feeling of sailing through life more like a loving drunken sailor than an unhappy assembly line slave with a big two by four stuck up his ass, I didn't have debts, spicey boiled crawfish were on the menu for tonight and paradise if not here at the moment, was just around the bend.