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Chicanos For Love Part 5

"I mean, is your brain also made up of one of your pimples?"

By Tommy Villalobos, Contributing Editor
Published on LatinoLA: October 7, 2016


Chicanos For Love Part 5


Read "Chicanos For Love Part 1

Read "Chicanos For Love Part 2

Read "Chicanos For Love Part 3

Read "Chicanos For Love Part 4

"That's what sets us apart. I live a red life, she a bland white one," said Ramona.

"Paint your lives how you like, I see a blank canvas. Tell me then, are you both going to drive up to him and offer him un raite and see whose car he jumps into?"

"No. I will wear a form fitted buttoned down red dress and Glenda her white frumpy dress. He will then see me as a passionate, loving, and full of fun and games woman set to lead an enriched life, covered with jewels, cabeza a pie."

"So, sis, you have life down to a sexy formula."

"More like a puzzle I have solved. Can't be wrapping laundry all my life, you know."

"But you can't pick up a man like a package of laundry and carry him home under one arm."

"I will carry him like a freshly pressed suit from the cleaners, carefully and quickly."

Octavia picked up flat-faced Turbo and went to her room. Ramona smiled a smile of self-assurance.

Very next Friday, Ramona called in sick. She then went to the European Grill at about two o'clock in the afternoon, figuring this would be the best time to catch a manager of any eatery. Fridays were the busiest, she had observed from patronizing countless taco trucks with Glenda all over the city. Restaurants had to be the same, just not as happy, she thought.

Ramona stepped up to the entrance and pulled on the door. The door said, "Chale." She tried a second time but found out this was one inflexible door and refused to be pulled on. She looked up at the building as people have been doing since the castle days. I guess it is a primitive instinct coming from the fact that many a castle had to be stormed to gain entrance. The quick look was to see how reinforced were the battlements and parapets. Ramona saw nothing but pigeons looking for a pigeon to drop their load on.

Ramona thought. Diplomacy worked now and then, she concluded. She knocked. Twice. Three times, then a fourth. She then proceeded to pound on the door a toda madre. She heard movement. She stepped back, ready to charge. After further noise, the door opened. Felipe, Claudio's younger brother, stepped out, his pimples having multiplied, now streaming down his cheeks and populating both sides of his neck.

"Yeah?" he croaked.

"You're Felipe, right? Claudio's little bro?"

"Yeah."

"I need to talk to Claudio."

"Can't."

"Why? Is he busy doing the books or ordering stuff?"

"I don't know."

"Then how do you know I can't talk to him, estup …Felipe?"

"I know, that's how."

"You know what?"

"Eh?"

"I mean, is your brain also made up of one of your pimples? Tell me, why Claudio himself can't come to the puerta? "

"He can't."

"You said that."

"And I'll say it again and again until you go away."

"Which I ain't."

"It gets cold out here at night."

Felipe began to close the door. Ramona threw her weight against Felipe and not the door. They both landed in a kitchen barren of food smells or people who prepare food smells.

"Where is everybody?" Ramona said, getting up without helping Felipe up. He seemed to prefer the prone position as before and again with one elbow propping him up, he carried on the conversation from there.

"We had to close when Claudio left."

To be continued…

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