My Brain,is in a Box

Albucrazy Adventures

Albucrazy,

Only those that have lived in Albuquerque, understand.

The joys of Route 66,

Now Central Avenue.

The warzone, and international district.

UNM, Down town,

It's actually more odd than Breaking Bad.

West of the big Watermelon mountain and The Apple Mountains.

Sandia Mountain, and the Manzano Mountains.

Is beautiful Albucrazy.

The whole east side is framed by beautiful mountains named for fruit.

Did you know, Albucrazy is higher in elevation than Denver?

Maybe the thin air and oxygen deprivation explains it.

When I last lived there in that elevated city, caught between the Rio Grande and the Big Watermelon. Sandia Mountain.

Surrounded by ancient Pueblo nations. Casinos, and Reservations and Casinos.

High desert and,

A secret Air force Base that rumors say has Atomic bombs, aliens and time machines.

I don't know about all that.

It could explain a lot though.

I lived there for several years.

During one period I worked at a combination Liquor store, gas station and truck stop. Talk about a recipe for interesting things.

No, I am not kidding. Gypsy Liquors

Was all three.

There's my truck, and the Liquor Store.

That street view is relevant to this tale.

There's me, at work.

It's a real place. Something's you just can't make up.

I worked there for several years. It was never boring. Located on central, near the warzone, it was highly entertaining.

Today's tale is a twofer.

The story of George, the Navajo Cross Dressing Hooker.

No Ma'am, the famed Albucrazy trans, I did not assume His gender. It is on his Driver's License. George is gay not trans and he would tell you that himself.

The second story is of,

The one that got away.

First I present,

The one that got away.

During my time at Gypsy, there were five attempts at theft and robbery. Only one got away.

One thursday an idiot stole a display box, that had only a heavy rock inside. I laughed and watched him as he fled. Damned near beat himself to death trying to run, bouncing off the front door in his hurry.

He saved the heavy Expensive Patron gift box. His face and head, not so much. I opened the door and held it for him.

I was worried he might do a squishy damage to himself and drip some of himself onto the floor. It was purely the eeww factor, not courtesy on my part.

The location clients were always just this side of WTF, and or just the other side of what's that smell. We had decent folks pop in now and again. However, the visitors of various variable delights, were a steady stream.

That afternoon, forest, which is what I called all attempted runners. Took off at top speed. I called out “ Run forest run” until he ran out of sight back into the hood. Smoked a cigarette then went back inside.

Candy, a clerk, and close friend, answered an incoming call, then motioned me over holding up the Phone. She was laughing.

It was “big T”, the local weed dealer.

“ Hey Donn, You guys missing a Patron box?” he asked, “Yes we are as a matter of fact. One just took off running a few minutes ago.” I informed him, intrigued. Big T laughed, “Why would there be a big heavy rock in the box by the way?”

It was my turn to laugh. “We do that because those fancy expensive boxes try to escape too often. “

Big T laughed hard. “Ok then. Got something for you, be down in a few.”

Big T walked into Gypsy, with some of his crew. One was carrying the Patron display box. Two of the crew escorted “ forest”. Big T was smiling. His guy handed me the box, complete with rock. Big T gestured at Forest. “ Punk, wanna say something?”

Forest, with a slight quaver in his voice mumbled something. No one could understand him. Two different hands made thumping noises on his head. He mumbled louder. “Sorry.”

“Get him gone” Big T ordered. They hustled him back out the door. Big T offered his hand, instead of the usual fist bump. As We shook hands he pressed a rolled up sandwich baggy into my hand. “Sorry dog, that shit won't happen again.”

He then bought a sleeve of Patron shots. Which he passed around to all the clerks. On his way out he paused and hefted a couple of the display boxes. Shook his head and left.

Moral of the story,

Not so sure it is a moral. Forest didn't run far enough. He would have been better off in jail. The dumbass did not even open it to check inside before he tried trading it for illicit joys from Big T. Some lessons get learned the hard way. Some folks will read the sign then go right on and pee on the electric fence.

The Ballad of George and Eileen

“ Help me Jayzus!”

George was a regular up until this one final Friday evening. I should introduce you to George.

George, just about my height, 6’5”, maybe 320lbs, male, Navajo, wearing a light green and yellow sundress and bright red fuck me boots. He came in every day for his pint of importers vodka.

Importers, The drink of choice among Centrals lot lizards. Eileen, the other person of interest in the story, told me it was hooker gargle, gets the taste out. Yeah, things you really never wanted to think about.

Now, Eileen. Maybe five feet tall and ninety five pounds. I called her Eileen for two reasons. First, she looked a lot like my ex mother in law, Eileen. Except my ex inlaw, had both of her legs.

The second reason was, Eileen, was an amputee. She was very dedicated to her craft. Never missed a day on the corner there at Gypsy.

That fateful Friday, George came in, bought his Pint then left. He took a post on Eileen's corner. We all kept a sharp look out knowing Eileen didn't take no shit, she had a serious IDGAF attitude not to mention ninety five pounds of crazy in a five ounce sack.

I saw Eileen clamber out of a semi at the diesel stations on the back lot. Security cameras. Watching her on one good leg ,her right one, and a single crutch was always a sight. She could move quickly! Faster than most sixtyish two leggers out there.

I made it out the front door just in time to see her clear the corner of the building. She froze in place looking at her corner. George noticed her and the dumbass made a point of turning his back to her.

I had lit a cigarette and was banging on the glass door of the store. The two clerks joined me for the show. There were no customers in the store.

The air , did this odd shuddering shimmer around Eileen accompanied by an unholy screech. It was amazing. Eileen seemed to teleport across the lot.

We could hear the sound of the crutch whistling as she swung it over and over screeching and hopping around George on her one good leg.

In seconds he was down, screaming, crying burbling, curled in an over sized overweight foetal position. “ Hep me, hep me, oh hep me Jayzus “ his agonized mantra.

We Three were helpless. First, even had we wanted to interfere with the tiny one legged hooker beating the giant cross dressing Navajo hooker with a crutch, we were laughing so hard we were crying. We were incapable of movement.

When Eileen figured she had made her point, or gotten bored. Or both. Personally I think she only stopped because that aluminum crutch spontaneously rapidly disassembled.

It wasn't like she could kick him while he was down. She hopped over to us, I opened the door for her. She was very well balanced. Hopped up to the counter, bought a half pint of importers. Then hopped back out.

She hopped out and back to the back lot. There were conversations to be seen on the security video. Eileen climbed up into the cab of another semi. They pulled away.

George, eventually hobbled across Central to the bus stop across the street. Eventually several APD cruisers arrived. About an hour later they left. Not sure if they took George or not. We never saw him again.

The next day, Eileen showed up, with a new crutch, to man her post.

All in all, typical Albucrazy life.