God bless the bartender at Bombadiers. Let us work the jukebox. Bought us pitchers. Poured stiff drinks.
Cortinas Verdas and the Zsa Zsa Gabors had a ton of heart. Santana, the bassist, held it all together. And they were fuuuuccked up. We saw ourselves in them . . . you can see it too at East End when we get back.
Bad Assets brought it.
But, you know, so did we. Signed autographs. Wore green. Wandered back to the lodge.
They cleared a parking spot when we arrived at the hotel.
El Paso, mi casa. Y hasta.
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