I am in Mexico, staying in a huge dormitory. It has a clear glass ceiling above the third floor, with painted-on clouds to make it look like the sky. My room is 327, but I can’t find it. I surmise that the floor may not be encoded into the room number. I stand on a balcony overlooking the street. I watch as the queen’s carriage and colorful procession pass by. I notice she has an outboard toilet on the back of her carriage. My companions and I stop into a local health food restaurant. A horizontal bar blocks the doorway. I step over, but my brother ducks under. I lift him up by his ears to his feet. This angers him and puts him in a foul mood. He mocks the establishment and the general culture by pursing his lower lip and drooling. Festive music is playing. A couple at another table begins to dance the Charleston. A native in a white T-shirt joins in, doing the "chicken". He has slipped his arms though the body of his shirt and holds a basketball behind his ass. My brother looks on with disgust.
Rowdy’s Dream Blog #65
My Brother Looks On With Disgust
1 min read
