“Copz––An Arresting Experience”, that’s the place Isela and her friend Leonard took me to this past Saturday while I was in Harlingen. That girl kills me, she really does. She had another breakdown when we were leaving Baloo’s, an open-air bar behind a RackDaddy’s.
I’m not completely unsure whether it served as a catalyst for her mood swing, but I had put on song number eight of Coldplay’s “A Rush of Blood . . . “ album, singing along to it as I tried to get her home. But the poor thing, she wouldn’t stop at first. I held her hand for half a minute and had to let go so’s to get control of the steering wheel, not knowing my way around, as it were. I wish I never let go. I wish a million things about that night.
“When the hell are you gonna wake up?” I said to the windshield, watching her try to open the door to her sister’s trailer. Quieter, taking weight and diffusive issue into the feeling in my throat, I said it again as she got it finally and went inside.

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