Back in the Land of the Political Zombies pt. 2

“Guero, where are you going?

Que Onda Guero?”

-Beck Guero

 After standing on Colfax for about fifteen minutes I began to get a bit antsy figuring a patrol car is going to ride by and mistake me for a dealer; more likely some old john trying to hook up with one of the street walkers. I think about going over to the strip club and waiting outside for Eduardo but that would draw the attention of their bouncers and they have even less tolerance than the cops around here. I figure I have to make a decision fast when Eduardo come to a slamming halt in front of me in his tan and dust Buick with some techno jam blaring from his radio.

“What are you doing whitey-get your ass in the car, man. I’ve been looking for you for a half hour.” He’s straddling a beer in his lap and has this miniature bong attached to his dashboard with a suction cup.

I get in the car and tell him he’s full of shit. “Half hour my ass. I’ve barely been out here that long. We gotta get to downtown and see if there’s any protest still going on.” Normally I would be more cautious about being on the road with some vato that has a head full of beer and pot and who knows what else but Colfax is probably one of the few places in Denver where this type behavior is the norm. As long as you mix in with the same amount of crazy as the rest the folk here you should be fine. We take off west toward the mountains, toward Denver, with a bowl full of weed burning on the dashboard and this erratic techno beat thumping into the night. Earlier I had finished a hard lemonade mixed with bourbon preceded by a couple antihistamines; I have this allergic reaction to alcohol and found that taking the one thing they warn you against mixing with liquor actually opens up my sinuses. I don’t recommend this to anyone but it works for me.

I warn Eduardo that we’ll have to park away from the heart of the downtown zombie’s den as it will be closely scrutinized by police, the press and who know what other entities. We find a spot not too far away and begin walking toward the State capital where nightlife is chasing the neon lights of Denver’s clubs for an evening of dancing and drinking. Slower groups of tourist types waddle by looking like they’re lost and Eduardo would probably enjoy preying on them for entertainment if we didn’t have an agenda at hand. Eduardo was dead set on going down there and starting some shit with the cops, a real tug and fight affair with Denver’s finest. Already I am trying to come up with an alternate way to get back home because  this thick necked Latino is ready to rumble and the last thing I need is to get caught with him; at least he had all the drugs on him.

We showed up a little late for what was the last arrest of the evening according to Westword magazine. All the fun, the pepper spraying, the wall of police in full gear at the Occupy Denver group.

“we’re too late” I tell Eduardo. “All the hard core fighting has passed.”

“Let’s start our own” he urges me while pumping his hands around. He is so jacked up it makes me wonder why I ever hang around this maniac. I’m all for a brilliant display of civil unrest but not wanton destructive berserker behavior. I tell him to keep cool while I talk to some of those still straggling around the corner from the park where only days ago a cantina stood curbside to Broadway and Colfax.


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