...border

so, three relatives walk out into the night.

the bastard knows that he's drivig them back to the thorough borough tonight.

no matter. the mofo logged a lot of driving time to make tonight possible and we three head off into the night, the bastard hoping like hell that he can find a spot later.

it was a good night for drinking.

for family nonsense.

and for talk about childbirth.

you see the accountant regaled me with tales of childbirth best left unsaid. a mad science drop nonetheless.

over the river and east, we speak of other crap which I cannot recall but at 2am one wonders why one's stomach grumbles.

"do taco bells in new York stay open late?" , the accountant inquires.

"I think so", i reply

"there is one on utopia open late. I used to go there during my days at the torch", the mofo concludes.

so it's a mad dash for the border.

meximelts in the brain for the bastard.

the idea of acid reflex never felt so good.

a junkie approached us while we dined. said he needed money for a cab to the subway.

i tell him that we're tapped knowing full well that the 7 train was a 20 minute walk and a walk might cure his junk sickness. he simply moved on to the next car.

i moved on to my next meximelt.

—the bastard