Something about Allentown is terribly edearing with the tough blacks and Latinos congregating on porches and no lonely girls. The poorest, the least moral maybe, we long to taste them, us, the skinny Caucasians pushing through narrow roadways to the movie theatre with the doors locked and the longing wide open, though we have decided that lifestyle is empty anyway, yet none of them ever seem to be lonely. So Mexico, we'll run off to Mexico and drink our way to happy in the authenticity of the people. We enter the Southside in our fancy car with the Baile funk smacking our senses around and waltz into a Mexican restaurant. It's too stark, too real; the waitress can't understand too much English and you can't understand why you can't get guacamole. No, as we return to Americana we abandon our adoration for Spain; we'll run away to Seville where it costs more money and the Europeans will get us and hate us and hopefully fuck us.
Slovenska is waiting for her hair to grow and graduation.