Arizona Journal, Day 4
I'm eating a late lunch at Pancho Villa's, a Mexican dive here on 4th Avenue. Not bad--eggs with chorizo, refried beans, and fried potatoes. The salsa is good, even the mild stuff my gringa stomach likes. Best of all is the horchata, the creamy, cinnamon-spiced rice drink that soothes my burning throat and mouth. Guerro Canelo is next on my list, a lunch place on 12th Street suggested by the hippie dude at Cup Cafe. It's in the barrio, and as y'all know, I love restaurants where I'm the only whitey/anglo/gringa in the joint. I just point and grunt at the food on my neighbors' table and the waitstaff seems to understand.
I was up till 5:30 this morning writing. Of course, most of that time was spent chastising myself for my lack of emotional self-sufficiency (I'm lonely), discipline (I don't start writing till midnight), and worldly success (I'm living on tortillas and beans). Then I said, "Oh, fuck it," and got to work.
I did indeed write too much, as I warned myself against yesterday, succumbing because this full-fledged scene I cooked up solves lots of the problems of the first draft. But also because it's a doozy! A teenaged boy masturbating to a scientific article! It was so fun imagining myself into his consciousness. Although I'll have to vet the scene with a certified Man--I don't have, um, first-hand knowledge of all the mechanics. Insert poorly-executed wink here. Tonight I see if there's any way to integrate the scene more fully, without upsetting the balance of the story. Is this interesting to you? It's not interesting, is it. Just think about the masturbation part. That's exciting. Oh, I can just see the Google hits piling up.
Sign of the day: Old Pueblo Parking Lot. Just pitiful, people, in so many ways.