Whether I like Marbella or not, my next three weeks
will be here. Quickly in the middle of a sour night I found employment
in Puerto Banus and moved into the youth hostal. Money was scaring me,
dominating me, a lack of income becoming draining physically and
emotionally. At least I know my job will help for any money, a
duro found on the street, is better than none. I have to
make more than 250 peseta a night- for that is what it costs me in bus
fare- if I don't make more than 700 I'll move on. The sky is cloudy and
the tourists here are drunks, nasty drunks that disappear behind glass
eyes and incoherent sloppy mouths. But I found employment and the money
is needed now, not later......

Money brings sleaze; the more of one the more of the other. Samll
farming towns, trips in the woods- my chest strains against the choke
of money but the world is no longer Don Quijote- not the occidental
world. For a burro and apples under a tree I must leave and go where
the world is rough and struggling. The dream world I live in is
polluted with reality, clouding blue ceiling in black smoke; new colors
emerge pleasant and horrid, none as clean, all as awesome so that one
stares until pulled away by the motion of necessity. The littler grey
haired woman sharing the shade of the bustop with me speaks, telling me
of the correct bus and telling me "mire como lleva los anillos"
giggling discretely about the man in front of us wearing golden