I ate them from a taco truck in the parking lot of a divey strip club. I was told that they were tortuga tacos. I didn’t believe that they were actually turtle, but they were delish nonetheless. The club was small, dingy and smelled like bed sheets that needed changing.
Strange women drifted about. Giant blondes with their bikini underwear that glows under the black light. Harsh, over exaggerated faces, tits and high heeled shoes. But there was one there, different from the rest. Always a good thing to find one different from the rest.
These places are not usually for me. You go home with nothing more than the promise of an ugly hangover due to drinking more than an amateur should. But I was there on invite to a bachelor’s party. I sat at the bar alone. I watched the rest of them throw crunched up dollar bills at someone’s daughter showing her pain to the next guy with a crunched up fiver.
I drank. And I drank more. I was young and of strong heart. I left that bar with the scent of an angel in my clothes. And her phone number too.
It took two weeks and a picnic on the beach, beer and tacos in the sand, before we stared at the moon together.
It was something strange and good that I didn’t understand. Much like the light bulb. Pull the string, it’s on. Pull the string, it’s off. Eight years I pulled that string. Till one day I pulled too hard. And it was off for good.