Tequila and the Pecos
_After I pass through New Mexico I don’t once stop in Texas. Last time I drove through was a few years back for a crazy gig outside El Paso when the band was still going strong. A light fixture fell on Ricky during his solo, and we got heckled when Dan mispronounced the Pecos River. All was forgotten by the end of the set so we headed back to the motel to get down to drinking.
Ricky and Carl talked trash all the way to the room, and soon as we walked inside Ricky knocked Carl clean out. A little blood on his lip but we knew he was all right by the rumbling snores he let loose from the floor.
Rest of us drank Cuervo til sunrise when we walked out into the Texas sun. I went around to the side of the motel to smoke a cigarette and looked down to find a dead calf. It was about ten feet away but well rotted so the smell was thick in my nostrils. All of a sudden I sensed the tequila coming back up, and I leaned down to vomit, the last night’s Tex-Mex mixing with the sand and splashing on the wall nearby.
Then it was an hour later and the band’s packed up, ready to move on to the next town, my stomach settled long before the hard Texas dust at the bottom of my boots.