Saturday, August 17, 2002

Schatzie

You always see him with a cigarette dangling from his lips. He is over six feet tall. Even at night he wears black sunglasses. You can tell he was once muscular but his white skin is now slightly pudgy with fat. He has been walking around without a shirt for days now, the crack of his ass showing above his black italian pants. His skin is completely burnt red from the waist up.

We have been roaring around aduluisia for days now in this shitty little fiat that never seems to burn any gas. We have wound round the treacherous mountain roads to Ronda, a town so pristene in its ancient Spanish Morocan style that standing on Puento Nuevo you fell like you have been captured in a painting. We have eaten tapas next to an unending row of Dali statues, girded by palm trees, on a marble plaza in Marbella, a town so grossly rich it would embarrass the citizens of Las Vegas. We have darted in an out of the narrow streets of Granada, we have seen mountains and vistas and moorish castels. We have eaten sunripened figs off the tree, we have seen bulls, blood pounding high off thier black hides, slaughtered by prancing toredors dressed completely in pink and still, he never takes off his sunglasses.

The other day as we sat on our balcony, with Barolio singing, smoking hash he had copped from some Turk in a DJ bar for the international set in Benalmadena he squinted at me and said "Rene, we ave to find you a voman, dis life for you vithout a voman is no good¨"
Barolo just rolled his eyes...
"Shatzie, Rene can take care of himself"
But I was already gone, in a haze of wine and hash, half dreaming, half laughing, listening to Salsa on the porno channel and slipping away.

besos

rene

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