Eduardo Paz-Martinez Reflects Part One

"Please don't go!" Rosa said to me as I pulled on my boots. 
"What? Why would I miss this? This is going to be great for the blog,"  I said as I scanned the room for my keys and wallet. 
"But, why does it have to be there at "that" place?"
"I don't know babe.  I guess that's where he feels comfortable."
"But, what if someone slips something in your drink?"
"I don't know.  I guess I'll be somebody's bitch for the night, just kidding.  But, seriously, why are you so upset? I thought you were tolerant of all people." 
"Well, of course, I am, I guess.  It's just that you're such a handsome man and I hate the idea of all those queers googling over you." 
"OK Rosa, just please don't worry about it. It's going to be fine."
"Please don't drink too much or do anything else stupid." she said quickly as I took one last long drag of a joint and walked out the door. 
Five minutes later I was already approaching the dilapidated downtown area. It was a scorching day and the asphalt felt squishy underneath my truck's tires. I circled the block twice, attempting to find a parking space, but ended up parking a couple blocks away from where we had agreed to meet. I closed my ashtray where I keep spare change and stepped out onto the sidewalk.  Crossing over to the shady side of the street I made my way towards the "Bottoms Up Bar." 
The bar had a bench in front of it and two fat whores sat on the bench.  Practically sitting on top of each other they only occupied half of the bench. They flipped their hair around and tried to make eye contact with me as one of them pretended to talk on a cell phone. The door of the bar was painted as a rainbow with the colors going straight up and down following the lines of the wood siding that had been nailed on it. At eye level a hand-painted sign read "Bottoms Up Bar, 4 PM to 2 AM." I could hear music beyond the door, but the door was locked.  On either side of the door there were two large blacked out windows.  
Using my keys I lightly tapped on a window. A few minutes later a tall black man cracked open the door. Only exposing half of his face and using what seemed like an phony deep voice, he asked: "May I help you? You know the bar doesn't open until four." 
"Yes, I see that now but the thing is someone told me to meet them here around this time. The man shrugged and shut the door.  I spun around facing the other side of the street contemplating what to do next. I heard the door creak open again and I turned back around to face it. 
"Just who you supposed to meet here?" The door asked. 
"I think he's a regular," I said.   "His name is Duardo." 
"Duardo?  "Little D"? Well, why didn't you say so? Little D's not here yet," the large black man said as I followed him through the bar. He was tall and lean and walked as gracefully as a supermodel.
"Here honey, this is Little D's table," he said, his voice now relaxed.  "Would you like anything to drink?" 
"Yes please some water." 
"OK, I'll bring you some water in a sec.  I got so much to do before we open and my help ain't showed up yet.:   He smiled and breezed away. 
I tried to stretch out in the restaurant style chair, putting my hands on the table, but the table was covered with some sticky substance.  I put my hands back on my lap and waited.