Tijuana Gringo | by Michael Thomas
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Well, Maria is mad at me. We haven't seen each other in a week. No, you misunderstand. We haven't broken up... no. That's backwards. You must be thinking we haven't seen each other because she's angry. No. I have had to come up to San Diego, and then cross over to the desert Borrego, to help my parents. And I haven't seen my love since last Wednesday.
So, you understand now? It is NOT that we haven't seen each other because she's mad. No, she's MAD because we haven't seen each other. We talk on the phone. Every day. How nice, she says, how nice that you can help your parents and are too lazy to come down to see me in Tijuana. And my heart breaks. Please don't tell me things that will make me feel bad, she says. Essssshhhh. Love bites.
You decide who said what. They're both true no matter what. We hurt. Each other. I want to sit on a stool at the burrito stand near her house in La Mesa and give her a rose or three from that little puesto near the Mercado Hidalgo.
This file already exists? Replace existing file? Yes. No. Choose whom you will serve.