The palms brushed one another in the wind like his mother's hands as she pulled the hojas together in preparation of tamales. He paused as he thought of her, awaiting the hatred to rise in his chest, but it didn't come. He continued his memory, the smell of the ingredients for atole, the cinnamon and vanilla, would mix with the brusque smells of pork. He paused again as the memory came back to his mother. She had large Mexican biceps, a product of cooking materials for hundreds of years, perhaps even longer. The mashing, the rolling, the kneading. Her hair was pulled back. She wore a plain brown dress that he hated. I hope I never see that again.
There was the hate again. Lorenzo welcomed it in. At 19, and high school becoming a memory, he pulled what was a primary drive in his heart. With high school and all of its pain receding, and a year of working at the auto insurance office smoothing out his other passions, he enjoyed sitting still and taking in the passions of hate. He hated her. He wished he could bite her again like she said that he would do as an infant. He loved hating her. She never really did a thing to him, but he found her grossly stupid.
He found that the palm trees overhead had blurred from his sight. He was looking beyond them for that moment, and only the blue of the sky was there. As soon as he became conscious of this the palms came right back into view. He took in a deep breath. Let it go now. He got what he needed from his undying hatred.
Lorenzo shifted his girth from his back to his side, propping his hand on his cheek. His long, dirty hair falling in front of his face. He looked out across the park and only saw a few families enjoying the last light of day. Parents half-aware, heads buried in their phones. The kids looking back for acknowledgement, approval. They don't know how much better...to be disconnected. He didn't have his phone out because he was mad at Lindsay, ignoring Carlos, while Beth and Laura were mad at Lorenzo. Good. The phone was an intruder today.
He pulled out his cigarettes from his front pocket. He searched for a pack of matches he had taken the other night at the El Calor. It was an old club on the west side. He didn't know why Lindsay and Carlos went there. It was a goof. Carlos would laugh, but, when he wasn't laughing his face eased and there was something he was getting there. Perhaps it was the men in cowboy hats and boots. Carlos would never admit that.
Lorenzo swung his hair back and fumbled with dirty fingers at the matches and lit up. He stared at the sun and told it to fuck off. He let the beat from Celani's 'Over & Past' bump across his mind and had no more thoughts for a few minutes. He wondered where he would go tonight. Everyone's mad and he couldn't go back to mother's. Not tonight anyway.
The car. He'll sleep in the car again, but not here. There was a park near Sunset that he found before, getting stuck in the area when he almost ran out of gas and had no money. He searched his pockets for the fortieth time today. Three dollars and fifteen cents. There was a meal. There was no gas.
He sighed and absently flicked his cigarette. He could go back to work and search his co-workers desks for loose change again. They were threatening to get a security system put in and Lorenzo felt bad when the memos went out. If you leave money out...
Lorenzo could only get up by putting his weight on a knee and almost stumble upward. He flipped up his black hoodie and took another smoke before flicking the butt out into the grass. Maybe it'll catch fire. He went to his car and put on Evoke & Bijou's 'Bittersweet' and a pair of $5 sunglasses that he got at Wal Mart.
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