– – – – – – 11 – – – – – –
(Them still sitting, board in their dark, gray, cell)
Their little break from vacation forced them to learn more about each other, and themselves. They were both American, but Shiva had never spent much time there, and Gringo had never before left. They both spoke english but could hardly carry on a conversation. Shiva spoke a Helter-skelter hodge-podge of Spanglish, Fretalian, Amerabic, and Germandarin he’d picked up tagging along with his globetrotting diplomat parents. Gringo hardly ever knew what Shiva was talking about but he always trusted it.
(Shiva talking gibberish and Gringo translating it for someone. Shiva’s sentences are very short but Gringo’s translation long)
– – – – – – 12 – – – – – –
His favorite thing about Shiva though, was he never spoke about the U.S. of A. It wasn’t that Gringo was running away from home… Per se… He just never wanted to think about anyone or anything from that fucking Hell-hole ever again.
Sure he’d come across a tourist or ex-pat every now and again, but only when he’d been really desperate for cash.
(A stereotypical american tourist covered in, dripping with Gringo’s semen)
– – – – – – 13 – – – – – –
I know earlier I said like-attracts-like but it’s also true that opposites attract. And that’s not contradictory, just paradoxical.
(Maybe some pictures of dynamistic dichotomies and balance)
One was an young old-man so modern he was practically futuristic, the other was a old young-man so old-fashioned he could hear his pagan ancestors. A humorless trickster and a soulless shaman kicking holes through the nights – one hunting the dawn, the other running from sunset.
– – – – – – 14 – – – – – –
While they were ‘resting’ Gringo overheard one of his inn-mates having a conversation about a “gringo paradise” on the West Coast. “Bungalow Bill’s”
(Gringo eavesdropping but unable to see that the person that he’s listening to is in a straightjacket and talking to a pelican at his window)
Or at least that’s what he thought he heard, it may’ve just been the delirium tremens.
– – – – – – 15 – – – – – –
By the time they were back in the fresh air and sunshine Gringo had decided their days of wandering directionless, looking for trouble, had come to an end. Now they had a direction in which to hunt trouble.
(Them escaping jail chained together at the wrist)
– – – – – – 16 – – – – – –
“There’s no such thing as a poorly planned adventure” Shiva had (maybe) once said. If there was however, this would’ve been one. Hitchhiking and staggering across the universe, from sunset to sunrise, in a country they didn’t know, in a heat they weren’t used to, and with little to no idea where they were headed.
(Them dragging each other by the shackles through impossible landscapes)
– – – – – – 17 – – – – – –
Their best days were ones where they’d scrape together enough money to be overloaded into the bellies of giant, over-crowded, machines that shook like they’d woke up sober. All the auto-buses had bad shocks and suicidal drivers and lurched over dusty roads and around homicidal cliffs.
– – – – – – 18 – – – – – –
Left of Center somewhere on the Isthmus of Panama.
Along the way they found no a/c, TV, or wi-fi, and no beer, coffee, or weed snobbery was allowed, or even possible. They took what they could get and barely made it through each day. But they were making it, 3rd world style. No rush. Nothing to loose. No problem. Living their own (Central) American Dreams.
(A begger asks for a light and Gringo hands him his entire backpack and says, “keep it. It smells like tuna cunt. Shiva does the same but says, “Swampthing’s wrecked ‘em.” Gringo corrects “rectum.”)
– – – – – – 19 – – – – – –
They found a little cantina with no name, but to its friends it was called “Bar” Gringo and Shiva got to know it so well they could call it, “Baby.”
(Them sitting on the floor of a dingy toilet. One doing bumps from barbie’s hand job, the other gnawing on the chain that shackled them. A bouncer standing in the door looking displeased)
Another closing time, another tossing out the door, But this time with more reeling.
– – – – – – 20 – – – – – –
In the loud darkness it rained tropical flowers and monkey shit down on them as howler and capuchin monkeys settled their bets on whether or not the two fucked-up humans would be eaten by alligators.
(Them standing in the jungle/beach line covered in shit & flowers. Hungry eyes looking on from the darkness. Shiva saying, “dis-located?” Gringo replying, “Lost! We’re lost!” Now each wearing matching shiny bracelets with dangly chains)
“That’s it! I’m sick of being an ape.” Gringo shouted up to the trees. “I’m devolving into a sea creature.” He stripped off everything he owned and ran towards the ocean. And Shiva came frolicking after.
– – – – – – 21 – – – – – –
They were tossed about and beaten by the ocean. Their souls were turned outside-in and exfoliated by surf and sand. They were wrung-out, reborn, and more than half-drown.
(Triumphantly Gringo stands nude on the jungle beach at sunrise, shouting at the sky, “¿Cómo se deci “Expatriating” En español?”)
The next morning they awoke to a strange sunrise. It took them an embarrassing long time to realize the reason it was so odd was because the sun was coming up over the jungle instead of the sea. They’d finally made it to the west coast!
– – – – – – 22 – – – – – –
“Drink?” Shiva asked celebratorily.
“It’s always 5 o’clock somewhere.”
Shiva looked up at the sky for a moment and replied. “Melbourne.”
“Gringo Starr and Shiva LosVegas walk into a bar.” It sounds like the opening line of a joke, I know, but the difference is – jokes end.
– – – – – – 23 – – – – – –
Shiva sat alone in a bar that had no walls so the nervous-excitement of the night could slide through. He’d learned how to order the local toxin through a combination of Charades, pantomime, and interpretive dance. Usually his traveling companion did the talking but Gringo had stalked off with a stolen harpoon muttering something in Spanglish like, “Duck season? Rabbit season? Tourist Season!” and singing Happiness is a warm (harpoon) gun.
– – – – – – 24 – – – – – –
Gringo came back with hair wild, broken sunglasses barely staying on his red face, and a ripped shirt. Shiva was confused by him syting they had to leave immediately, the bar wasn’t closing or throwing them out. But he allowed himself to be dragged out none the less.
– – – – – – 25 – – – – – –
Outside, choked-up and staring towards the watery horizon, Gringo passed Shiva a joint, and with burning lungs and wet buck-shot eyes they watched the most beautiful sunset there ever was, or ever would be, as it sacrificed itself just for them.
As the Sun disappeared Gringo and Shiva heard cries and howls erupt not far-off in the distance. Not true jungle sounds, but those of other bald, domesticated, apes like themselves. Cheering the sunset. They moved towards the noise. The dull roar grew into a din, which turned into a racket, then blossomed into a hullabaloo, and finally erupted into a party!
– – – – – – 26 – – – – – –
They’d made it! And the gringo paradise was a beautiful resort.
(Them in tattered rags standing in front of a swanky gated hotel full of gringos. The sign out front reads “The Last Resort.”)
The place was of course far too expensive for them.
– – – – – – 27 – – – – – –
As they wondered what to do they remembered some friends they’d made along the way and decided to do what anybody in that situation would, and whore themselves out.
They chose ladies that weren’t spoken for, not because they were afraid of boyfriends or anything, they just preferred those who could speak for themselves. So they flew over the cuckold nest and were eventually caught by ladies with low enough standards to choose them.
– – – – – – 28 – – – – – –
Strung and dragged out. Keyed and coked up. With faces only a mother(fucker) could love, they were led through the opulence to the lady’s suite – where they were immediately pointed towards the shower.
– – – – – – 29 – – – – – –
They hadn’t realized how clogged full of sea-salt their pores, or sand their orifices had become. Gringo discovered, unfortunately, he wasn’t as tan as he’d thought. And Shiva discovered that he wasn’t as permanently blue.
(Them showering together in a now filthy bathroom)
– – – – – – 30 – – – – – –
They celebrated for days. Instead of just booze they drank water, expensive coffee, all sorts of juices, and classy mixed drinks. They constantly had powder bumps on keys being jammed up their noses, and into their brains, trying to unlock them. So much so that whenever they put their room-key in the door it snowed a blizzard down on the insects below.
(Bugs in sky-wear going down slopes in a blizzard)
With cocaine rimmed margaritas the boys and their new friends got lit up like funeral pyres for village idiots. So numb from epiglottis to uvula they feared they might choke on them. They were Hell on wheels, and rode it ’till the wheels came off. Until they just felt like hell.
– – – – – – 31 – – – – – –
They no longer had to make due with their badly broken Spanglish because everyone there spoke english. Even Shiva began to have more creep into his international word-salad. Everything was too easy. Somehow they’d turned from travelers into tourists!
(Them sitting at a nice table, clean and shaved, in nice clothes,
drinking out of champagne glasses. Gringo: “This is the closest to Heaven we’ll ever get.”
Shiva: “Thank fuckin’ Chris.”
Gringo: “I know, ain’t it awful.”)
– – – – – – 32 – – – – – –
Every time they tried to create a little fun the whole, “blame the monkey thing” no longer worked.
(Them standing in a crowd with arms full of hard-fruit reeled back shouting, “Coconut Fight!” Hotel security behind them looking displeased)
– – – – – – 33 – – – – – –
Soon things like the internet and television began pressing in on their little bubble. Then came the news and messages from the rule-bound ‘land of the free’ from which they were fleeing. Suddenly they realized they were out of money and had no idea how long they’d been that way. Too long, they figured. That made it seem like they must’ve been out of time as well.
(“Drink?” Shiva asks. “Five o’clock somewhere.”
Shiva looked at the clock on the wall and says bitterly, “In New York”)
– – – – – – 34 – – – – – –
One thing led to another and with a little help from their friends the boys found themselves outside with their new relationships and responsibilities. Their Taxi waiting like heartbreak down the end of that lonely street… Well, dirt road.
(Them in their shuttle, gloomy and awkward, hotel in flames in the rearview)
– – – – – – 35 – – – – – –
As they ferried across the Nicoys Gulf they saw the slowest sunset in the history of rotation. It was like a anguished kiss goodbye that refused to let up. It almost made being politely mugged and blackmailed by the Heartbreak Hotel-shuttle driver worth it.
– – – – – – 36 – – – – – –
Gringo wished he hadn’t glanced at Shiva’s ticket to ride and saw that his real name was Sasha. He wished he hadn’t seen his own name on his ticket either. Dead tired, and only six weeks deep they were loaded onto the plain. They were almost thankful when that kami-kaze pelican martyr flew into the engine to take it down.
(The pelican that’s been hidden in just about every picture, now dive-bombing into the small engine.)
– – – – – – The End – – – – – –