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I skipped mass, but I didn't skip the Baby Boomers afternoon gathering on the deck at Cobbleheads. The money I would have dropped in the collection basket I deposited in Joe Kenney's pocket. I've been depositing money in his pocket for the last 35 years since he first opened Checker's Café downtown and I would sing The Three-Legged Rooster with The Connectors backing me. 

I'm waiting for that first cold beer on the house from the Irish Prick. He may be good to musicians, but he has never shown me any of that love. But that's cool. I've had more than my share of freebies.

Emilio Crixell, Albert Besteiro, Charlie Harrison and the regulars were on stage. Brownsville's own Sonny & Cher, Joe and Rosa Perez, grabbed the microphone during one set and harmonized to the groove of the swaying palms.

During a music break, Albert approached and asked if I still smoked dope. I told him that I had quit. I added that COVID was more demanding than Lent. As I've said in the past, I miss it for one specific reason. When I'm high, I want to strum my guitar and sing my RGV delta blues.

One of life's sad realities is that we aren't doing the artistic and physical things we should be doing. As a result, we become mentally stagnant and physically flabby. Enough guilt can be inspirational as one decides to escape the doldrums.

I don't consider myself an artist. Artists can be supercilious characters who convince themselves that God has given them an insight into this existence that others don't possess. Art for many is a secular religion and I am not a religious person.

I am as stupid as the next guy and as ugly as the next gal. But I do have a creative side. I am always finishing a book and I have produced four children besides raising two others. Most of my books haven't been read and my daughter died after three months, but I keep writing and fucking. I hope to pen a few more books, but I have no intention of bringing another child into this world.

Rick Lepre, the legendary coach, joined me. Retired from the BISD, he is rediscovering his lost youth with his blond hair and a diamond stud in his ear. It's his way of letting his freak flag fly.

"Do you need a ride home?" he asked after we had conversed a few hours. 

"Sure."

As Rick dropped me off at my place, he said, "Give me a call during the week and we'll throw back a few."

"Sure."

If I didn't know better, I might think I was an existentialist anti-hero in one of Camus's novels. You keep moving forward until you smack into a wall and it's over.  

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