Smokey in the Air
Further down the road, a helicopter flew overhead.
“How about that copter up there?” I exclaimed.
Pepe came back with, “Man you is really paranoid. That’s probably nothin’ more than a news helicopter.”
A moment later we observed it passing over again.
Then I said, “I told you, they’re tailing me man; can’t ‘ch see what I’m talkin’ bout?”
Pepe replied, “Those choppers are used to monitor traffic during rush hour.”
“This ain’t rush hour, and I bet ‘ch that’s a police chopper.”
He remained silent until I dropped him off at his destination; at which time he said, “Man you need to quit ordering those drunken noodles at that Thai restaurant.”
“Negative man. . . Never touch the stuff,” I retorted.
Then before he walked away he razzed me by saying, “A black mariachi! Well I’ll be dipped.”
Finally he sauntered down the street while singing the lyrics: La Cucaracha, la Cucaracha; Ya no quieres caminar . . . .
Like Angie, he was right; I had been steady sloshing down beers.
Later I had gotten out and walked to a market district. After rounding a corner, I plastered my back and palms to a wall and waited. Suddenly a young couple rounded the corner with a child in a stroller. The kid stared at me so hard that I figure that they were agents, and the kid was used as a decoy to throw me off.
I suddenly said to myself, “Everything is not what it seems to be.” I began getting confused as to what was legit surveillance, and what was the flow of normal life activities. It was then that I figured I may have been hallucinating, and maybe I was severely mentally capsized.