Who won the Superbowl?

Not that I really care. But it is something that people ask. What was I doing instead? I was kicking it with the neigbhors. I don't do bullshit sport holidays. O, maybe I once or twice did. I thought it would be nice to fit in. But it's not something I take very seriously.

I managed to wake up at 4:45 am and meet Ponce in his driveway for the trip to the Swap-Meet. I'd been saying I was going to accompany Ponce up there for years. Yesterday I actually woke up, got dressed and hit the road. It was raining lightly.

Ponce is crazy about the Azusa Swap-Meet. I guess he's been going every Sunday for the last 40 years. It's goddamned far too. It was an hour ride in the dark cab of Ponce's truck. And I was fucking tired. And yet it was nice. The occasional thwap of the wiper blades acroos the windhsield. And the daylight still not awake. We were on the 210 freeway, along the Foothills. And there was hardly another car. Just big rigs. Rolling and Shifting. Ponce as always wears his flannel jacket and Sprinkler Fitter's baseball cap. We said little. I slept for twenty minutes there in the cab.

The swapmeet itself is kind of a letdown. It's just a big old flea market really. Biggest one I'd ever seen. The most curious thing was the class of vehicles all the traders rode in with their stuff. I'd never seen so many old trucks. Fords and Chevys. All from the 70s. Funky-ass camper shells. Trailers. Dodge camper vans with louvered windows. And they all CHUMPF CHUMPF CHUMPF at idle. If you stand behind one you feel like you're going to faint from the exhaust fumes.

Mostly Mexicans. So many guys wear cowboy hats, and boots. While they set up their stalls and tarpaulins. Their kids sleep on the front seats of cluttered vans. Very social.

I spent most of the day sleeping. I slept in my clothes. Lovely and warm. Dark and overcast outside.

That night I found myself wondering what the hell to do. Everyone was off at Superbowl parties. That is a big fucking deal for people here. My neigbhors next door (on the other side from ponce) were drinking and barbecuing. I could smell their backyard fire for hours. I loved the woodsmoke in the afternoon. It brings me back to little towns in Chile and Mexico. I felt shy, but I went over anyhow. It was cool. They made me some slabs of meat, and brought out a bottle of Pueblo Viejo tequila. And we drank.

We all expressed the same sentiment. That in this country you just work and work and work and it never leads anywhere. I'd be more succesful if I was watching the superbowl. But instead I'm drinking tequila and listening to mariachi with the neigbhors.