ASHTRAY


The cowboys hats moved up & down. Their drunken owners dancing to Norteño Corridos. Their wives, lovers, or girlfriends, were shaken across the dance floor like worn puppets. The Band was good. Indian looking fellows played with a lot of feeling. The accordion sounded great. Superb funeral music. Since I don’t like to dance just for fun I sat at the bar and tried to write my way out of a dilemma. Nothing in particular, I just like to think in those terms when I am writing. I like to think I am solving some kind of problem. I looked towards my right and I saw a goofy guy standing to close for comfort.

“What do you want?” I asked.
“An ashtray”
“Where are you from?”
“Iran”
“Sorry I don’t smoke”
“I need an ashtray”
“Why don’t you get it from the waiter”
“Passed me that ashtray” he pointed to a black ashtray next to me.
“Aren’t you Muslim?”
“Yes”
“I thought Mulsims did not do booze, look at you, you’re all fucked up… not that I care, we Catholics are allowed to enjoy good liquor. I just don’t have your ashtray”
“Ashtray….”
“You know, when I used to smoke, I used to smoke Camels”

The smiley Iranian stopped smiling and walked away.
Ashes… I have been around ashes all my life. It’s just too much.
I also got up walked outside of bar and I could feel the ocean’s breeze and it felt good. I looked at the lights of the nearby boats that pierced the darkness and I wished them good luck.