I appeared at Papa Chango’s treehouse, unannounced as always. Chango was busy making wood models. It had only taken him 59 odd years, including 40 years of gucci construction to realize that blueprints are just a load of bullocks. He says they are absolutely impossible for the client to wrap their mind around. Ditto that my brother.
Sure the blue print with all the exotic fractions and measurements everywhere show there is a door here, which opens to a deck there. And yes the fridge sits here and the bidet goes there. Oh, and if we go to page 9, there is a sideways back view of the Master Bedroom. So long as you can imagine it from a bird’s eye. Eeesh.
So PC is making models. Clearly putting the word model back in Model Home. His models are all made of scrap wood and glue only. His current project is a two story, 1200 s/f guest home. For your viewing pleasure, the roof lifts off. So does the second story. Everything is scaled exactly to size. So simple, a monkey can understand it.
Word was out. The chess legend in Puerto for the past 20 years or so was finally being beaten by a young fellow named KO. True Stories. KO was regularly beating Tron, yet not without giving it everything he had. It was no secret that Tron was well underway with the derailing affects of Alzheimer’s, but trust me, he still managed to play a very professional game of chess. I had heard through the mezcal vine that Tron used to play many of Puerto’s so called ‘best’ players without using his Queen. He would set it up, but never move it. How fucking cool is that?
I saw Tron & KO doing battle in a cafe once. I knew who they were. They didn’t know me. The reason I knew of them is because I’m good that way. So there I was, thumbing through my pocket dictionary, minding somebody else’s business. The game looked very serious. I began wondering if I had it in me to play at their level. Had I known that I would be given that very golden opportunity in less than 10 days from what is now then, I don’t know what I would have done differently. Second guess my ability more likely than not. I made like a banana.
I made the Big Man feel welcome. He was just two days removed from competing in a Mr. Universe qualifying comp. in Germany, and one of those days was a full day of travel to get here. I was sure he was wacked. Big Jim brought him coconuts.
He’s a 40 y/o cop from Paris. Different. Bodybuilders can get that way at his level. He tries to fit in here, but it’s impossible. He boogies. If I had anything in common with the dude, I am sure I would find him to be Universally different than me.
He likes to tan himself in a tiny thong in the mornings and evenings down at the beach. I saw him sunning with a pretty Mexican once. She was topless. He called me over to them. The ‘booby’ traps I fall into around here never end. Solid B cup.
He appeared at my penthouse suite at about 3pm this past Tuesday. He had a sunscreen bottle in each of his hands. “Oh don’t fucking tell me!!” Good Gawd! Yep, that’s what Biggie wanted. HOLY CRAP!! And he wanted lots of it put on too.
Well, did you really do it? I personally would have told the Hulk to Beat It! Tell me you didn’t lather the Big Boy up with lotion. Oh Dude! That’s Classic!! You couldn’t pay me a million bucks to do what you just did. Grow a sack amigo!!
He yelled my name twice from the ground floor. Maybe even a sharp whistle. I forget which. It’s how it’s done around here. I stopped fighting it. I get it. Mexican Doorbell.
He was sending an older couple from Italy up to see me. Apparently they wanted to stay for a month. This was going to be interesting. Hopefully they spoke PigLatin.
He spoke only Italian. She knew a bit of Spanish. I love New York Pizza. He wouldn’t know a bagel if it hit him across the head. She wasn’t buying into my presentation.
The young French surfers showed up 45 min. later. In a combo language zey vondered es de coot tenian la cuard perfecto y dinero no pro-lame. Zees gut? Seguro en Merci.
Here come the old people. Clockwork. They come from Canada. Europe. East Coast. California, if they’re smart. Basically snowbirds getting the hell out of the cold. As this annual migration occurs, I slowly but surely morph into an entirely different character all together. It’s kind of neat. It’s the craziest bit of magic! For the past four months, as the heaps of young travelers and hot shot surfers have dominated the region, I get type set as somebodies father, even though I’m not. Like a wannabe somebodies father. Ouch! Not a fun character to portray if you think about it. Kind of creepy actually. But that’s fine. I can dig it and handle it and laugh at it all in the same sigh. But don’t look now dot dot dot here comes boy wonder.
I first noticed her beautiful ass as she was ordering her mocha or latte. When she turned around, I about shit a purple Twinkee. I totally remembered her name, her ways, and her story. I pretended not to notice her. She didn’t pretend anything, spotted me, and came to my table to say hello. She looked gorgeous. I had met her two winters ago while she was here on a yoga retreat. She was struggling through a hurtful divorce at the time, and naturally didn’t look all that attractive. I could tell she was extra keen on me back then. Prolly why I shifted gears into Extra Vague, and kept the sunglasses on Extra Dark. Truth is, I was already comfortably hooked with a young gun from Montreal, and it’s tough enough to juggle brushing and flossing around here, let alone two ladies. But here she was again. Right in front of me. Fair Skin. Canadian. Frizzy blondish brownish hair. I’m sure a ton of grey ones in their too. Probably about 42. Flexible as taffy. Great body. Long and Lean. Walks real tall. Has that ballerina gait with the toes kind of pointed outwards. Pretty smile. Smart. Sexy. My hunches tell me she even has her own money. She is also in a committed relationship. I pretended I was happy for her.
Been seeing her. Boy have I been seeing her. Them actually. Her and her dog. They walk down my street most everyday, sometimes two or three times. She is just something else. She wears bottoms that create that ass fold, where the tail end of her ass folds over and under the true bottom, creating a good size crevice where it hits the top of her hammie. She is dark skinned and way out of my league. Always listening to music. She’s probably 25 and just smoking. Her female dog is full sized. It’s some sort of Pit Bull from what i can tell. They are a confident duo for sure.
One morning I was out doing some ball work, without a ball, but with a good boy named Rocky. You’d know him if you saw him. He’s sharp. We run in the tall sand. The wet sand is impossible with the Little Man because a sand crab scurrying to its hole generates the exact same reflex in him that blinking an eye might have on you and me. If you don’t see the ‘pull’ coming in advance, it could end up being your shoulder or arm socket. This dog will send everything he has into that precise moment. He will stomach a tablespoon of sand if it contains one dime sized sand crab.
We finished around 8:30 am. We were almost to the street, but still in the sand. Rocky was on rope and panting. It hit us both like a thunderbolt. There they freaking were. Her and her dog. Her dog was off leash. It didn’t seem like a good idea to introduce the dogs, but it happened quickly, and I spoke first. “Hola, I’m Rocky, and this is my dog Aaron.” Boy I fucked that one up. The Italian babe then opened her mouth and said three words. Sara y Everista. We kissed cheek to cheek. All the focus immediately turned on the canines. The roughest true love imaginable.