NOTES ABOUT SAD PEOPLE DYING OF NOTHING

THE other day it hit me.  While traveling in Highway #1, from Caguas to RIO or vice versa.  Concrete craters, sinking plates, plastered with asphalt.

What made the epiphany shocking is the familiarity of the whole moonscape in highways, roads, side walks down here. 


This familiarity is consequence of watching these permanent holes, craters in the same areas only getting worse, part of the hardscape, for 45 years they have never been repaired, or recognized, acknowledged. I will be 60 in 2011. 


Imagine traveling in this uneven surface, in vans typical of India or Africa, no refrigerated air, a radio blasting, 16/18 passengers in a vehicle for 12, the collective, stupid monologues of these sad people, the smell of Varon Dandy, English Leather or plain sweat in the old heat.

That is the way people used to travel, before every joe six pack or pancho karaekeso was able to buy a car.  That is how this window glass of democracy became one of those places on earth with one car for every two people in our geographic 100 long X35 wide dirty and noisy concrete hell.


The old heat? Forty five years ago, Puerto Rico was mostly vegetation, now it is about one third of pure concrete/asphalt, single mothers in housing projects or with Section VIII. 

The heat is permanent day and night,  even in our winter, thanks to  concrete heat absorption/refraction.


Driving, that feeling of freedom, of being able to go anywhere, as in those advertisements from the auto industry from USA, when it was powerful, or now Japan, Korea or Germany, a bitter joke a la George Carlin.


A nice, shiny car, with sport wheels, air, 
500 watt stereo, from 0 to 60 in 10 or 4, what difference with the shitty roads down here? Only the retarded, abundant in all economic segments buys BM, Mercedes, Audis or worse a Lotus, for what?  To feel the bumbs, navigating yatch like,  the flooded streets, highways and roads at every little rain here?

NEXT DOOR NEIGHBORS ADVENTURES

THEY belong to that segment defined, described as trailer trash, but missing the trailer.  Both are pasty pale, rarely go outside or feel the sun, pretty much like vampires.

Dirt poor, both of minimun wage income, had previously a yellowish cat with a collar too tight, already in the streets.  They loved him for about forty five days, while he slept indoors.  Now the poor feline hangs out with the not neutered Farrukito's the pimp looking fellow stray clan. 


Squeaky and Pillsbury dough boy, now got a dog, not a pet, mind you. An animal that hangs out in the outside ALL day and night, except when it rains.


The terrible thing is that the piss smell now is right on our driveway or the north garden.  Why would this scum of the earth, with the habit of speaking pidgin English occassionally after snorting or whatever they used to get stone, get a dog?


That by the way is barking, not used to be indoors in the porch, since it is raining?  A couple of nights ago, he barked for hours..


Squeaky has a turtle figure, with the manatee breasts by the collar bone.  She laughs like that African pack carnivore of the rotten meat.  When she speaks it is like a drill on me ears..


The Pillsbury fellow is not too bad, but as a drummer stinks worse that Ringo in the beginning. Enjoys pork shops in rancid lard cooked by his charming Squeaky. It stinks me tv/computer room after dark every other day.


It is only 8AM, I imagine the barking will be on for hours.  Squeaky and Pillsbury, riff raff,  a true token of the population down here.  Where concrete, asphalt, weeds, noise, washing money and tax evasion rule.

Chito the dog is still barking, I give him some affection when we meet. It is so cruel to have animals that require some affection as if they were a pet rock which do not. 

Apaga i vamonoh.