‘Tis hard on the heart, fighting on the front lines — especiaLLy being so far from you. Ammunition is low, gangrene is pLaguing the sick bay and I fear that I shaLL never see you again. Day and night we must face the watchmen lurking on every street corner, ready to write us up or hand us bLasted tickets. SoLdiers from other camps have stoLen our cLothes and bLankets in attempts to pass themseLves off as our own so that we are fooLed or guiLted into sharing our battLe pLans or rations with the poor souLs.
In any case, tis a good thing that I’ve got FLickr to warm my heart with memories of you. The thing is, when I wake up in the morning, love, and the sun light hurts my eyes… and something without warning, love, bears heavy on my mind… Then I look at you and the world’s aLright with me. Just one look at you and I know ’tis going to be…
Much love and LOOOOOOADS of tacos,
P.S. Why this song in particuLar? (This is gonna be a long one.)
My first day I was on the truck, I was home for winter break. So there was this CaLifornia coLd that New Yorkers wiLL never be abLe to understand. ^__^ I’ve been up aLL day, running around with Mark, trying to figure out what to do when the market we went to every morning was cLosed unexpectedLy for the hoLidays. Then came the marination of the meats — which were ICE COLD. My hands feLt — you know what? I couLdn’t even feeL my hands once the frosty burning sensation faded to a duLL numbness.
By that time it was mid-afternoon and we were aLready an hour behind scheduLe, even though I was busting my arse heLping everyone eLse get it done as quickLy as possibLe.
Because we were behind scheduLe, I stayed on the truck to chop the meat whiLe another one of us took the wheeL w/ my brother at the back griLL, franticaLLy cooking off the tortiLLas. With every sudden turn or hard stop, I aLmost cut a few fingers — but miracuLousLy onLy ended up hacking off the tips of my latex gLoves and fingernaiLs. Eric aLmost burned himseLf trying to brace himseLf on the hot griLL with his busted up spatuLa.
We were kids who stiLL didn’t know what we were doing yet, exactLy.
Nights in 30-degree weather were tough. You’re beat, your cLothes are smeLLy and you take turns w/ MarLen and her son Gio to huddLe next to the griLL for warmth. We might have had a shiny sticker on the outside, but on the inside, it was stiLL a true bLue lonchera mobiLe, circa 1985. Or oLder. The tips of your fingers hurt because they’re duking it out with a dude named Frostbite.
The moment wet fingers hit coLd air, the chances of contracting hypothermia spike exponentiaLLy.
Despite aLL this, though, it wasn’t so bad. Because when it was coLd, there were peopLe waiting out in the coLd with you. When it was rainy, same thing. And it reaLLy is something eLse, to see that someone’s been out there for 45-minutes to buy a singLe taco, take a bite and come back up to the window to teLL us that he might have been pissed off those last 30 minutes, but that our food was worth it.
Sometimes when I’m tired or aggravated and swing by a truck stop, aLL it takes is one look at aLL those happy peopLe eating our food and suddenLy, the worLd is aLright with me.