without knowing exactly who barclay had talked to inside of the pet store, while receiving directions, i can only assume the conversation may have involved a parrot.
. . .
as we waited in front of what would be home base for the next three days, and as no one answered our buzzing at the door, knocking and so forth, it become apparent that this may be too good to be true, as it may not be the right address. so we walked back out onto the street, looked for some kind of sign, a literal one perhaps. we walked into neighbouring courtyards and past roaming dogs, and sprawling cacti. we knocked on other doors and soon we had an answer.
"this address, is about 20 minutes away from here, get into your car, follow me"
oh how we followed, the maggot zipped along those wrong streets, away from those fancy homes, with fifteen different views, away from the the very beautiful, and very very wrong address in that gated community. we followed close to the bumper of our "saint of new directions", we followed him down bumpy streets, through blind intersections, up tight avenues, past the award winning duck enchiladas, past pet stores and pick pocketing tall tales. we followed him right out of town, and when he pulled over and said "your destination, is right there", his finger jutting toward an open field, scattered with various vegetation, i knew we were still lost.
confused, we asked, "where?' and again he pointed, we looked, he smiled and he drove away. so, through the traffic circle we went, onto the open road and although i tried, quite eloquently i had thought, the lady at the hotel on route out of town, graciously said, "no" when i asked for the use of a phone. i thought perhaps she didn't like me, until i understood that the "no" was to my tongue and not to the use of the phone. B, again with her skill as a master linguist, was able to get us our needed phone call, receive new directions, and through the absence of a long since set sun, and a moonless night, we went back toward town, around the traffic circle, back out past the jutting finger and arrived at our appropriate address, in another gated compound behind a field of scattered vegetation.
our bodies weary, and our minds tired, we slept like a couple of sun burnt hedgehogs, until, through the bars of our bedroom window shone the warm morning light of the mexican sun. i rolled in the sheets, we were cozy under our white duvet, the mattress warm under us and the room reminded me of a old light tower, over looking a harbour or a dangerous pass. but as lighthouse keepers, we would fail, as we were stuck in this bed and all vessels passing this way were surely doomed.
eventually, i got up to warm some water for coffee, my stomach gurgled, that happy sound reminded me of the duck and mole sauce, and then my gut clenched, and so did i, and i made a turn toward the bathroom, and stayed there for the next 6 hours.
through the sweat dripping from my brow, and the tears on my tongue i cursed the trip advisor chef and his contaminated water fowl. but i was born a man with an iron perseverance, so i wiped by a...chin, dabbed my eyeliner and pulled on my pants. i stomached a tea, set out by B, found my shirt and hat, and stepped into the blanket of the day. there were treasures to be bartered upon, after all.