Bottle Deposit

Turns out Miguel is the father of a boy in northern Mexico whom he hasn’t seen in a few years, dating back to when he first arrived and became addicted to speed. He tells me that his lover was an alcoholic and they lived well together while consuming their vices; although her family insisted she return home when they found out about the pregnancy. Miguel was asked to leave their village by her family after the boy was born. He had been working at hotels and restaurants along the way making enough money only to maintain a minimal existence. He traveled light as did I, and our experiences differed only slightly over the past few years. I was fortunate enough to have written a few short stories that had been picked up by an independent publisher in Canada. In turn they deposited a few dollars into a royalty account for me bi monthly. It never really amounted to much, but it usually took the tension off of coming up with money for such trivial things as rent. I preferred to physically work as little as possible. My day would usually start off with a couple of beer and tomato juice, then something to eat, something easy like one fried egg lightly seasoned with dried oregano, a dash of salt and pepper and a piece of dry toast which I could make on my hotplate using tin foil I kept folded on the table. I usually drank another couple of beer straight up then wrote poetry or hard luck short stories. In the afternoon I often scoffed the landlord’s bottles for return as this made for affordable drinking. He would accuse me of taking them but he always stored the empties in the same location. I think he was grateful of having me there so he could tell his wife that I wasn’t paying the rent, he would always skim some money off the top for his own secret desires. It all seemed dirty; my entire life had become a dirty bottle deposit return.