Argentina Sunday

I got in a car with a skinny, pretty girl. She drove us to the ghetto CVS, through a sketchy neighborhood. She drove around the block. We got scared. She said, “I want to buy that mannequin.” I said, “Halloween.” She said, “I suck ass at parallel parking.” I said, “Get your suck on.” We got out and saw a black guy walking. We walked a few steps. We walked back to the car. We got in the car. She drove down the street more. She parked again. We got out of the car. We saw the same black guy walking. Then we saw three black kids walking. They were across the street. I said, “He has a boom box on his shoulder.” She said, “You should breakdance.” I said, “He has Homer Simpson slippers on.” We walked up the street wary and saw a door. We saw a small Argentinean. She motioned us inside. Another small Argentinean told us to sign a book. Another pinned a large thing on my shirt, above my left breast. Her touching me made me uncomfortable. We found a seat, ate some chips. We looked around. We ate some chips. We talked about things. We looked around. There was music playing. We ate some chips. We got thirsty. We ate more chips for an hour and finally got water. We were very thankful for the water. Pretty girl ate a marshmallow. A girl carried a guitar. A girl wore fishnet stockings. Posters of Argentina were on the wall in dirty frames. A rotary fan sat on a shelf. The lights went out. They went back on after we yelled surprise! There was crying. We talked about more things. We greeted a lady. We felt ‘in the minority’. We were on camera a lot. We were the first in line for food. There was Argentinean food. Unrecognizable. Turkey maybe or pork. I ate a small portion. I ate chips. I won a centerpiece and left when Ericka showed up. The only white guy walked us to our car. I said, “We escaped.” She said, “I feel bad.”