NEEDLING

RESOLUTION NUMBER ONE

Down yonder sleeps my destiny I can feel it. Up there in them plains. By the border next to a road-side beer joint in Tejano country. That’s where my future snores away, where the beer flows thicker than grapefruit juice in a peach orchard. T-bone steaks flapping over the plate’s styrofoam lip… and a baked potato stacked to the hilt with sour cream, bacon bits, chives, melted pasteurized cheese, and non-salted butter. Or was that a chicken-fried steak you were after, honey sweet? Thick brown onion gravy slopped down from the plate with some down-home corn bread? ‘That what you’re looking for, son? Jalapenos stuffed with cream cheese and garlic salt. Guacamole with a twist of lemon… That’s my future staring at me straight in the face. Pink Cadillac dreams. Rusted trailer park blues. Taquerilla mama fry me some frijoles, some huevos rancheros for breakfast, hang me a velvet portrait of Jesus and of Elvis next to each other, burn me some Easter candles to the Aztec Gods, bring out your butterfly knives, your sub-machine guns, your rusted revolvers and the Seventh Cavalry. I’m ready. My balls are burning against the wall. Get your hands ready for a shoot out... Eastwood pause, Lucky Luke shadow... hands tingling hovering near the holsters... Moricone music building up, getting us ready for a transitional scene anytime... anytime now... we're ready... just go ahead and SHOOT!

Posted by: François Pointeau / 14:55