This may be a shameless re-post but it fills my need to exercise my cynicism.

Geronimo jumped out the way when he heard the horn blast. He needed to be more careful or one day he was gonna have an accident. He looked at the bus schedule posted in tiny letters on the blue sign.

“Man these homeless dudes drink some cheap ass shit. The least they could do is puke behind the bushes. Damn!”

““Boy you better watch yo mout!”

“Wha…” said Geronimo to the drunk leaning on his stolen shopping cart. He hadn’t even noticed the nasty bastard. You got used to seeing homeless guys in the city and you also got good at ignoring them.

“Shit …hey man why don’t you make yourself useful and tell me what time the 31 is coming?” he said to the drunk. The old man looked at him and laughed one of those crazy cockeyed red nosed laughs that you could imagine coming from a well-pickled bruto.

“Sheeeet boy. You Mexicans never wanna learn how to read in English do yuhz?”

Geronimo was ready to curse the drunk with some special curses invented for the occasion.

“C’mon man. I left my contacts at the house ‘n I can’t see these little fuckin letters.”

“Alright lemme see …18 to MLK, 51 to Hollywood, 31 to downtown at -2:26.”

The old man leaned into Geronimo with a big foul smelling smile.

“Spare some change to help me get something to eat?”

Geronimo looked him up and down. The guy reeked!

“You just gonna drink it up ‘ol timer” hissed Geronimo.
“You stinking Mexican son of a bitch, damn” he yelled back.

Geronimo had spent his entire life in North Portland. Hipsters called it NoPo. Everyone in Geronimo’s neighborhood was poor and he didn’t understand why the hell the gueros called it that. Man they loved living with all the blacks and Mexicans.
His mother wanted him to have a strong name since he weighed over ten pounds at birth. His full name was Geronimo Wilfredo Bosque Jr. and she was pleased when she saw it for the first time on his birth certificate. Her prima took her down to the welfare office and got her into the system.

Geronimo was witty from the start. He learned bad words when he could sound them out. Kindergarten went well, his teacher was pleased he could count to ten in Spanish and English. In first grade Geronimo pissed off the teacher by asking to go to the bathroom too often and talking to another kid in non-native tongues. She referred him for Special Ed. and English for Speakers of other Languages, known as ESL, or, Especially Slow Latinos. The school shrink asked him a few questions and filled in six pages on her legal pad. She shook her head in complete understanding of the situation. Jr.’s mom figured the lady was telling her that her boy was smart ‘cause the school offered ESL classes to adults too. Her son would be taking adult level classes!

One day in fifth grade Geronimo was in the bathroom with some other Mexican kids. One kid produced a Sharpie from his pocket and began scrawling a letter x and the number 3 on the wall. That afternoon Geronimo was called into the principal’s office. When he walked in he was face to face with the school cop.

“Son do you know who I am?”

“Simon!” replied Geronimo.

Next thing he knew he was being bussed to the special school for behaviorally challenged youth. After getting pushed through high school Geronimo looked for work. He couldn’t read and job applications were like mountains looming in the foreground. He spent most of his time between the arcade at the Mall and his job as bottom bun man at Big Burger. One day he was playing a first person shooter and racking-up a huge score when he suddenly noticed a Japanese kid standing behind him admiring his fast handiwork on the joystick.

“You like sushi?” asked the Japanese kid.

Seven yeas passed and now he was late to catch Max to the airport. He was on his way to Japan to become Itamae, a certified Sushi chef.

Tires screeched - and wham!

The bus slid to a stop. Its driver peered under the bumper. Geronimo’s hand laid motionless, passport clutched.

1 comment:

nmm said...

Damn. Hooked me...