Thursday, January 17, 2008


You stay around your home town long enough and you can become an expert at it. Get to know who's moved out, who's pregnant, where to eat, and where the parties are at. Tonight it's dead and no one's informed you that your place is the meeting grounds for sitting around deciding what the plan will be. You can hear your boy's muffler dragging a block away so you take out the left over chips from the quincenera that happened in your backyard the weekend before, and yell, "Ama! There's no more salsa?", because you know you ain't one to pay the bills while Ama still makes you frijolitos at home.
Your boy's are the ones you mess with, drink with and most importantly, give you the confidence to talk to girls with. They hook up with the girls in your town this weekend and hook up with their friends the next. You got game only when you're around them except you act like it's second nature because where you're from, if you ain't playing the field, you're sitting out on the bench like you did when you never got picked for baseball. Always someone hooking up. Always with the girl from school you use to look at and say pobrecita to.
(this was inspired by Junot Diaz' style of writing.)

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