I crossed the street and went to the Oxxo to get a cup of joe.
I self-helped myself to java and then my ovaries and I got in line. Carcinogenic cup warmed my hand. I waited. Once it was my turn, I stepped forward.
The cashier’s brutal, Olmec face glared.
-¡No, el café!-
I know I look gruelingly American.
I was reminded of this undeniable fact hours later, walking through el Centro, when a little butch girl, pompis parked on her skateboard, barked-¡AMERICANA!-at me.
Instead of arguing, I saluted –¡Sí, a sus ordenes!-
(yes, at your service)
“Etaik mai peekshair!” she commanded.
She grabbed her girlfriend’s hand. They posed.
Here joo go, mi Generala!