Stella in the green hills of Iowa City limits.
I just got off the phone with my friend Victor, from Mexico City. "Victor, man, I think we might move to Mexico after a couple or three years here in Iowa. Whattaya think?"
Victor said, "I can tell you plenty of cool places to live in Mexico." Now that's what I'm talking about.
Am I serious? I dunno. Maybe. My man Paul & I often make jokes about living in Puerto Rico. I tell him we should open a hotel in Vieques. In my mind's fertile eye, I can see Eleanor surfing in Rincon, Janelle mastering her Caribbean Spanish and mid-wifing Puerto Rican babies. Me? I'd rent kayaks, drink Barrilitos in my green tea, and write weird short stories about the drifting sun that once fell in love with a dinoflagellate named Rarla. Paul and his lady Lanie The Poet would entrance the island one way or another. Maybe with an open mic night. Paul'd embrace his Rinzai Zen roots. That much is fer shure!