Story Teller

Just then two wayward British girls in their late twenties come to sit on the bench facing us and notice our bottle. “No bother if you drink here?” “Not here or anywhere else in Mexico as far as I’m aware.” The girls are fresh off the plane out for their first night. “Care to join us for some poetry and wine?” “You are both poets?” “Si, this is my great poet accomplice Miguel, writer of fine poetry and wandering international artist. And I, I am Jack Hines story teller and renowned wino of present fortune.” The girls look at one another searching for guidance and courage. The thinner blond one while looking directly at her brunet friend says “ Maybe we’ll fetch our own bottle, where’s the nearest vender?” “The tienda on the corner sells wine, beer and a vast array of libations.” “You mean that store there, just across the way?” That’s the very one indeed.” I’m on a roll and running blind. The girls perk up and introduce themselves but I only ever retain names for anymore than a brief interlude, so I go ahead and disregard the challenge. The brunet dashes cross the way and returns with an expensive bottle of French wine, which I open for them like a gentleman of stature. After only a couple of sips the girls are loosening up. “How long have you two been in Mexico?” the blond questions. “It feels like home, I’ve been here so long,” replies Miguel. “And I am merely passing through on an expedition of a lifetime.” I offer with gusto. “How long are you girls here for?” Miguel questions. “Possibly a fort night, we want to make our way north to America by spring.” “Yes, eventually to the beach at Venice California.” “Ah, the desire of adventure, that’s what brought Jack here.” “That so Jack? The blond asks. “Yah Jack tell them how you came to be a humble wino poet and story teller in the streets of this fare city.”