El Tarasco

“I am not normal, I do not have my shit together.” He took another swig of his mexican beer, then another bite of his carnitas. “ I'll go to that coffee shop tonight, pretend to get some work done, she'll walk in, and I'll let her have it.” An old man sits down next to him. Wearing all black. Modern day Johnny Cash. Looks about two notches better than a homeless crack-head. Thinning hair pulled back into a bun. Old man orders his food. He looks at the old man and realizes that it is him in thirty-five years. With disdain for all things business, the mexican diner is a stronghold for those base/rare human experiences; like love. He wonders if the old man is some great artist, entrepeneur, or if he's barely getting by; still frazzled and trying to figure out how to live in this world. He looks away at the tv in the corner. Local news is on. Somebody robbed and killed at a bank branch in the valley today. He tries not to stare at the old man, so he studies his half-empty beer bottle instead. “How am I ever gonna buy a house?” “ Who the hell would wanna marry me?” He frowns. “ How do I beat the game I don't even want to play?” These thoughts have become characters in his life as of recent. Like an angel and demon on opposing shoulders. Except now they've joined forces to conspire against him. He realizes he's been staring at his plate for awhile, and consumes the rest of his meal. He's not hungry anymore, but it's a decent distraction. He looks back at the old man and sees that he has finished his dinner and is now paying the bill. Old man turns and heads out the door, never stopping to pay his respects to the kid he once was. Old man's got more on his mind than any sentimental nods to history. He watches the old man in the parking lot. He's walking towards a Porche Cayenne turbo SUV. The kid unconsciously raises his brow with hope, silently screaming inside for this one victory. The old man stops and looks at his reflection in the car's window, and then limps down the back alley. The kid stops short, and self-scolds for being foolish enough to think that this was ever possible. “ Too many God-damned ideas and theories about who I am.” “ Don't think I'll ever know.”