Special to El Rrun-Rrun
Un camarada (they called him El Huevo because of his high-and- tight hair cut) was driving his carrucha from El Puerto pa Los Pescadores Bar at Market Square y llego a las Cuatro Esquinas.
He waited for the light to change, which at that intersection of Boca Chica Highway and International Boulevard can take an eternity. He was dirty, tired, and not a little bit aguitado with his boss at his ship-breaking job at the Port.
Today, el mayordomo, un bato de lotrano, lo habia metido al poso (the ship hold) to pull cable. As cutters on scaffolds with acetylene torches showered sparks upon the crew below cutting the steel walls, they tugged on the thick cables running through the ship and piled them in bunches. Others coiled them and a crane lifted the coils for copper salvage.
It was noisy, dangerous job. At any time a chuck of steel could come hurtling down without warning on the workers below.
"Orale, putos!," they would yell at the cutters who could barely hear them above the din.
So it was that El Huevo sat musing waiting for the light to change. As he waited, he saw someone familiar walking on the side of the road in the same direction he was going and recognized him as uno de los batos who worked at the yard.
"Hey, bro," he called out. "Quieres un aventon?"
"Simon, carnal, ay voy," replied the other, cutting across several lines of traffic to jump in the car.
"A onde vas?" El Huevo asked the guy.
"Pal puente," said the other, "Al puente nuevo."
Since the Gateway Bridge was just a few blocks from La Marketa, it was on Huevo's way.
"Orale," El Huevo nodded and drove down 14th Street. "Yo voy a la marketa a pistearme unas birongas. Me pusieron una chinga."
"En el poso?" asked the other."
"Simon," el Huevo answered bien aguitado. "Como sabias?"
"Se te nota," said the other knowingly.
They rode in silence past Javier Ruiz's 1 2 3 Bar, past Moy's El Mante, past Chapa's, El Border Lounge, El Siete Mares, and almost got to Roosevelt St. when El Huevo suddenly stepped on the brakes, stopped on the side of the street, and told his passenger to get off.
"Bajate, bro."
"Pero porque? Falta un chingos pal puente." the other protested.
"Que no miras el pinche sign, bato? Quieres que me den un tickete o que?"
"Cual sign?"
He waited for the light to change, which at that intersection of Boca Chica Highway and International Boulevard can take an eternity. He was dirty, tired, and not a little bit aguitado with his boss at his ship-breaking job at the Port.
Today, el mayordomo, un bato de lotrano, lo habia metido al poso (the ship hold) to pull cable. As cutters on scaffolds with acetylene torches showered sparks upon the crew below cutting the steel walls, they tugged on the thick cables running through the ship and piled them in bunches. Others coiled them and a crane lifted the coils for copper salvage.
It was noisy, dangerous job. At any time a chuck of steel could come hurtling down without warning on the workers below.
"Orale, putos!," they would yell at the cutters who could barely hear them above the din.
So it was that El Huevo sat musing waiting for the light to change. As he waited, he saw someone familiar walking on the side of the road in the same direction he was going and recognized him as uno de los batos who worked at the yard.
"Hey, bro," he called out. "Quieres un aventon?"
"Simon, carnal, ay voy," replied the other, cutting across several lines of traffic to jump in the car.
"A onde vas?" El Huevo asked the guy.
"Pal puente," said the other, "Al puente nuevo."
Since the Gateway Bridge was just a few blocks from La Marketa, it was on Huevo's way.
"Orale," El Huevo nodded and drove down 14th Street. "Yo voy a la marketa a pistearme unas birongas. Me pusieron una chinga."
"En el poso?" asked the other."
"Simon," el Huevo answered bien aguitado. "Como sabias?"
"Se te nota," said the other knowingly.
They rode in silence past Javier Ruiz's 1 2 3 Bar, past Moy's El Mante, past Chapa's, El Border Lounge, El Siete Mares, and almost got to Roosevelt St. when El Huevo suddenly stepped on the brakes, stopped on the side of the street, and told his passenger to get off.
"Bajate, bro."
"Pero porque? Falta un chingos pal puente." the other protested.
"Que no miras el pinche sign, bato? Quieres que me den un tickete o que?"
"Cual sign?"
"Ese. El que dice nomas One Way. Ya somos dos. Bajate."
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