de la cruz STUDIO

Costumes, Cartoons, Illustrations, and Short stories




Willie Nelson

A couple at the Willie Nelson concert had an issue with us the moment they arrived.  My friend was sitting in 14B, I had 14C, and 14A was vacant.  Apparently, 14B was theirs, but instead of asking us to check our tickets, the motherfuckers asked an usher to move us. 

Greg moved one row behind me, same seat, different letter on the ticket.  

The couple was happy, but that didn't last.  She probably caught me looking at her legs, or cleavage, or her outfit, or her legs again, but probably her cleavage. 

After a few songs, she started whispering in her boyfriends ear, they switched seats. Their whispering soon evolved, petting, grab assing, kissing, and dancing in the isle, annoying everyone within a 15 foot radius. I got up a few times to piss, each time having to weave through their antics or ross their grimace.

Get over it motherfuckers, our mistake was hours ago, the show's was almost over.  

My last trip to the restroom included a run-in with her boyfriend at the door, then beating him to the first available urinal.  I ended up standing in a puddle of vomit, but I had no recourse, didn't even notice the until after I relieved myself. Now they're really going to be pissed.  I'm gonna have to squeeze by them, smelling like puke, perfect. 

So I skipped cleaning my shoes. 

On the drive home from Austin, heater blasting, my best friend asleep in the passenger seat, I held my nose, breathing through my mouth, trying to escape the stink in my little car.  I left my shoes on the porch when we got home, hoping the sun and rain would cure them over the next few days.

Greg left a few days later.  It was good seeing him.  Always a pleasure to host one of my best friends, talk about books, laugh about the same shit, drink gallons of our favorite beers, eat good Mexican food.  The shoes stayed on the porch. 

I finally decided to rinse them off before throwing them in the washer.  With two fingers I picked them up by the inside of their heels.  That's when I noticed the petrified dog shit smeared all over both soles.  I must have danced all over it during one of our intermission trips to my car to smoke and drink beer. 

I was that guy.  The guy sitting next to you who smells like shit and oh baby can we please switch seats.