Behold:
The new trolley station in San YsidroMind you this is California and we're talking outdoor terminal, not no big fancy building like some Grand Central or Pennsylvania or Union Station, no. But it should be an improvement over the previous model. Just that right now in the interim we must suffer even worse congestion and the shuttle busses across the border MEANWHILE depart from Beyer Boulevard, the penultimate, not ultimate, stop. We walk so we don't care so there nyaaa nyaaa.
Shut up Danial.
Okay Mikey. Oh-oh I just realized that my identical cousin and Tere's good friend share the same name. Maybe that's why he don't ever want to talk about me.
Today's the first time in two weeks and two days that I've passed through the border gate -- I hate crossing the line -- but I dressed more cleanly and neatly today and the man just waved me through.
In that two weeks of time the construction crews of cement and rail have finished one of the tracks and its concrete platform curbs and they now they've begun work on the other, next door, behind the ubiquitous construction fencing. It is almost, almost... starting to look a LITTLE bit like the fancy graphic I have quoted for you above. It's a pity I've got a headache I would write much more purple prose, poetaster odeish gobbledigook on the ceramic asphalt of the border construction station in this hour of hidden terror no no no No NOOOOOOO aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
Ahem. Anyway here comes the "train" yes. Click click thump thump roar-whir of electric motors and airpumps mmmm YOU CANNOT OPEN THE WINDOWS only the doors at certain points but
we know where the Zebra Burros sleep at night and we also know where the emergency door opening lever is but we haven't used it yet not well not since that day during the elephant convention when the door did not work or was it the year before? Whenever we had moved downtown after Lynne bitched and spent all our money I we broke up.
Again ahem. Ese era "la Furiosa" pues la segunda. "La Amarga" era la primera. Y Dios mediante y que el arroyo no sube, la Potosina Catorceava puede ser the third time's the charm but a lot of that depends on whether she can stand to even spend time with me mmmmm or tolerate my selfish loner $hiesit bla
I ride up into downtown San Diego. Wait for about a half hour at the Greyhound station. There is Tere! But she doesn't see me. I hear a woman call her name. Maria Teresa... and look over. There is Mike's wife, whom I have never met, and here comes Tere, and I step out and
"Daniel!" she squeals and hugs me and kisses me. I carry her heavy bag to their car. "Are you coming with us?" she asks.
No. I cannot. This is the time for her and Mike. If I had paid for her ticket, if I wasn't such a stinking damn poet who gave up money for art, I would have been able to sweep her away in my car BUT I DONT EVEN HAVE A CAR and Mike bought her ticket and
Sigh. Love bites some times and I know I must stand aside. After all, he loves her too, in his way, and I
Well of course I am jealous, but I am also grateful.
Mike's wife looks at me with a touch of curiosity and worry. No wonder. She doesn't know who the hell I am anyway. And
But no. I say I cannot. Better I should go back to Tijuana.
I know she is here now. I have hugged her. I have smelled the truth of her presence in our world.
Until later my dearest.