Juarez II

I was sitting on a piss, dirt, sweat and puke stained couch drinking a beer and talking to a girl.
We didn’t understand a word the other said.
The rest of the group I was with was at the bar arguing about the price of prostitution.
I thought the rates were fair but didn’t want to fuck a girl I couldn’t thank or say I’m sorry to.
I finished my beer and decided to make my way back to the border and catch a shuttle to the barracks in time for the Georgetown St. John's game.
A couple of the guys came with me, and as we were crossing the bridge a guy walked up to us and pointed at a girl.
“My sister will do anything you want for forty - eight hours if you sign her in as your guest,” he said.
“I have a lot of work to do,” I replied, and kept walking into a dive and ordered a taco.
Flies were buzzing around the table. The taco was spectacular. Georgetown beat St. John's.
After the game I walked into the desert and smoked a joint, looked at the Big Dipper and wondered what I could do differently with my life.
Just about everything and then some, I concluded, as clouds crossed the invisible line, I threw a rock at the moon.