A Change of Plans by Söl

Every day, I wake up and put on the same pair of black pants and a black shirt to match. Run out of my house rubbing the crust from a bad night’s rest, jump on my bike and go to school. Afterwards, I switch gears and get ready for a long night of slinging drinks for a clientele I don’t care for. On my days off I just can’t wait to release and have some fun, but going to the same dive bars, seeing the same faces, and talking about the same things is getting old and I end up going home early, annoyed, and broke. I keep thinking maybe I need to get out of this beat town and go somewhere new to get re-energized and party down like the good old days. 
     So, I called my friend up who lives in San Diego and booked a flight. I thought, “Yeah, there’s nothing like a week of sunshine, palm trees and cheap fun down in tacky southern California to cure me of my boredom.” 
     I arrived into town on Friday night, dropped off my stuff at my friend’s house and immediately started getting dolled up for a night on the town. He lives in a small town within San Diego County that’s right on the beach. The town had one main drag of junky 99-cent shops and burner beach theme bars painted with awful neon colors where the locals would go to hang out after a long day of surfing. My friends and I decided, what the hell, let’s go check some of them out and have a cheesy good time. 
     We went to one after another, drinking and making fun of the sleazy burnt-out beach bums trying desperately to pick up on the chicks strutting their stuff in cheap tight dresses. We cruised the drag for awhile but after a couple hours of the same scene I found myself bored and restless from the emptiness. Which is strange for me because I used to be able to hang out all night and have a blast. 
     So, we decided maybe it’s just this town and it isn’t tacky enough for us and we need to head for the border and get down and dirty in a Mexican disco dimly lit by flashing lights from one mangy disco ball. Air thick with so much smoke you were lucky if you made it through the night of dancing without passing out from lack of oxygen. 
     We crossed the border and got into town just before sunset. The town was jumping with people partying everywhere. We found what seemed to be the perfect place: Rocking Tacos. It was the worst eye sore on the block. We thought, “Yeah! This should do it.” But after five minutes with all the sweat and tequila poppin’ college meatheads, my fantasy met reality and we had to get the heck out of there. 
     We sat on the curb bummed, wondering what to do now, when I remembered I had an old high school girlfriend that had moved here. After a few phone calls I got hold of her and she agreed to meet us. 
     She pulled up to the curb with her husband and got out holding her eight-month old baby girl. She was wearing a long plank simple dress with her hair pulled back loosely with a rubber band. She looked all grown up and it was strange to see her with a family. It seemed like yesterday we were in high school and she was a shy tom girl that got straight A’s and won homecoming queen. I always wondered what life would dish out for her and there it was. 
     Anyway, I was very happy to see her and very hungry. We drove to a small restaurant on the outskirts of town. It was owned by this crazy Caribbean man with a huge afro and a laugh that sounded like a hissing snake. He brought us to our table and we sat awkwardly making small talk for awhile. But after a couple rounds the conversations began to loosen up. We talked for hours about our lives. The conversation was honest and real.