my Mexican buddy

I liked him
he was clever and could make me laugh
and often when he got the case next to
mine we would stick our letters and
talk
even though it was against the
rules.

he had become an American citizen
had gotten into the post office
and owned a movie theatre in
Mexico City.
I usually disliked ambitious fellows
but this guy was humorous so I forgave
him his ambition.

“hey, man,” he asked me one night,
“how long has it been since you’ve had
a piece of ass?”

“god, I don’t know, man, fifty years
I guess.”

“50 years?   how old are you?”

“50.”

“well, listen, I’ve been shacked with
this woman, you know, and I’ve told her
about you and I thought I might send her
over to you some night, she might cook
you dinner or something. how about it?”

“please do not project your frustrations
upon me,” I told him.

“I didn’t think it would work,”
he said.

the supervisor walked up behind us and
stood there.
“listen, I’ve warned you guys against
talking!”

“about talking when?” I asked.

“listen,” he said, “just keep it up and I’ll
fry your ass!”

“you win,” I said.

the supervisor walked away.
interesting things like that happened there
almost every night.