Porno Shop

El Senor made his way back to the Valley and we hung out today. He drank a coffee and I took a Hot Chocolate - he’s been gone for over a month now, locked up for 30 days for driving while under the influence of acid. He, unlike many men who do crimes and vanished before serving their time, had a Socrates moment and decided to turn himself in and serve so he can clear up all his errors. He couldn’t in the past because he was on probation in Texas, but that ended last year. This trip was planned since.

So we sat there in Coffee Zone, drinking and eating two cookies each, when he asks how my job hunting was going. Badly, I responded and told him about an ad in the Edinburg Review about a part time typist. He nodded and just said it - “You know the problem with us? We weren’t made to work for anyone.”

I’ve often felt like this. I wasn’t made to work for someone else, from the ground up. I always thought of myself as the take charge sort of person. After all, wasn’t that why I decided to run for president of Sigma Tau Delta in 2006?

“Yeah,” I replied.

Before he left, I talked about starting our own editing business, nothing fancy and only for side cash every once in a while because we were going to be facing a lot of challenges in the writing world as the small guys. He said he’d look into it, as well as reopening the Nueva Onda, but only in another location and only if Amado’s willing to go through it again. This time, however, we’d make within the city limits and possibly have a better plan that won’t leave us bleeding money.

Upon his arrival, he was rethinking the business idea. What sells in this country more than anything, despite the economy?

And not just adult movies, but pipes as well. He asked me to join him in this business and - well, fuck, I’m a writer, how can this not be good? - I accepted. I’ll keep you all updated on what happens. Trust me.