P.R.

IV.

In 2003, I traveled to Puerto Rico. I spent the summer working there and loved it so much that I returned the following summer. In Puerto Rico, I met people with names like "Ruel," "Crow," "Luzmar," "Dona Olga," and "The Spine Man." I spoke Spanglish & chain-smoked back in those days. Hand-rolled, each cigarette tasted like Life itself. In fact, I named a mix tape after my beloved smokes. I called it "Delicious Cigarettes." It had Manuchau and George Harrison on it, amongst others.

The Spine Man was a panhandler with a deformed spine who lumbered up and down the alleyways of Old San Juan. He was the embodiment of destitute Puerto Rico, exploited by the White Man. He'd stand down by the docks and wait for the tourists to come streaming off the cruise ships in search of Hard Rock Cafe and Senor Frog's. When they did, he'd offer his ragged claw, scare the hell out of the Whites, and score a few pesos. He always went shirtless, too. I remember watching the looks of colonial horror dawn on the tourists' faces as the Spine Man held up his end of the Cosmic Bargain.

I've been all over and I really miss Puerto Rico.