We took out of there without any time for reflection…I had just witnessed a small town wedding in Mexico with hundreds of family and friends and hadn’t had much of a sentient thought…not one mention of the simple love, and slow-cooked vibes of shared mirth…not one word because I was robbed of my native sense by sensimilla, for a man and his steamer are not easily parted, but mild paranoia and thoughts of sex and hasty pudding? It’s what I got, not being a habitual user, and I suspect if one is one, then it’s myopia and distended gall-bladder for life…you miss things, ‘sall I’m saying, sometimes even the joy and wonder right in front of you, replaced by the thunder of your own thoughts and laughter…and If I started to dwell on the Ramona/Johanna accord? Forget it…the post lunch lull dreaming of fucking them both and quite possibly being in love with one and a half of them too was daunting…The Monte Carlo moved into the dusk. We were a wreck, less the minus tide of our shared good karma…I was going to go with this thing, from plague to pogrom, even if it meant burning a village near Chetumal and fleeing in a pair of boxer shorts from the black death…the car zoomed down a narrow asphalt bi-way through all kinds of flush green and fading light miracles…palms, calla lily, arum lily, pig lily, Bonsai…thick air and golden sky turning all shades of pink…and the crappy Kraco stereo blasting New Order like some nearby and rugged Isolation theme, Jon letting out howls of laughter, and David and I in back thinking none could die who we loved with this free intensity…and then we came upon the border crossing, with all sorts of signage warnings of Mexico and Fruits and checkpoints…as Oscar slowed, he and Jon talked of some quick plan to get us across error-free…apparently only 3 chaps per vehicle we’re allowed to cross at one time…So Oscar slowed down the Carlo and Jon jumped out…we roll along right through the checkpoint with a wave of the hand (must’ve been the flames, I thought), while I watch Jon walk through the walk zone and then climb right back into our rig without missing a beat…and away we go for Chetumal…we stopped at an ATM where I was coaxed into pulling out 200 US cash to help fuel the evening, and pay back for the plane ticket and hospitality gifted me earlier…and we hit the streets of the city…God a city and a city under the influence of Mary Jane…my successful adaptation to real urban life hand-to-mouth hung in the balance…what waves of mania and fury that much light and motion brought after two months of island fever, like opium talking through anxieties, what urdes and folly all this might produce…I was digging it most supremely…it was a gift from the groin…
- Michael Price
