{"id":24167,"date":"2026-05-10T07:11:31","date_gmt":"2026-05-10T11:11:31","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/?p=24167"},"modified":"2026-05-10T07:14:25","modified_gmt":"2026-05-10T11:14:25","slug":"east-austin-2001","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/flash-nonfiction\/east-austin-2001\/","title":{"rendered":"East Austin, 2001"},"content":{"rendered":"

Like during the summer months of cottonwood & cocaine, the lean & linger of front porches out past midnight.<\/em> Tonight, I\u2019ll rope the moon. My shirt shimmies up my arms and over my head, a ballerina\u2019s fifth position, lifts me up 7th Street toward the funeral home. A left at the green frog: El Sapo Verde. I stop inside, drink another. Soon I\u2019m back on the streets. Circling and circling. Listening now for the slowdown of Texas trucks with Mexican license plates. Coahuila. Tamaulipas. San Luis Potos\u00ed. Ranchers weaving up I-35 in search of family or work. Not where they\u2019re supposed to be.<\/p>\n

On the other side of the highway\u2014my work, my school\u2014stumble men like me. White. Entitled. Gay. Clusters of grapes. Dating each other. Fucking each other. Loving each other.<\/p>\n

My body, I\u2019m told, attracts attention. I believe it only when I\u2019m drunk. So here I am tonight on the Mexican side of town full now with Hondurans and Salvadorans, shabby streets and houses bursting with Latin American men who for some reason, sometimes, notice me.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Like when a big Ford truck slows down, heads whirl (the driver\u2019s & mine), and I can see he\u2019s alone.<\/em> Returns a few minutes later, tires squealed against the curb, the man\u2019s arm circling down the passenger window. Black marble eyes over stab of moustache. Wears his sombrero like DNA. I lean in, take notice of his silver belt buckle and imagine pointy boots.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow much?\u201d he says, a question I\u2019ve been asked before. He: soft flanks & fat rolling his thumb and forefinger through his goatee. I don\u2019t answer but instead pull the handle and open the door, my nakedness now inside.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Like when my pulse sizzles.<\/em> Wicked bulge beneath my blue jeans. Grab myself and squeeze. And then,<\/p>\n

\u201cGet out.\u201d<\/p>\n

He says it nicely\u2014\u201cQuiero que salgas<\/em>\u201d\u2014as if I have the wrong idea. But I don\u2019t want money, I tell him, glancing first at his eyes and then at my lap. He can have it if he wants. The man stares ahead at the flickering golden streetlight then slowly reaches across my lap and extends his arm to open the door. Tilts his hat and softly wishes me goodbye as if we\u2019ve just ended our first date.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Like an hour later, bush tired & bare chested\u2014nowhere to go but home<\/em>. A car slows down, pulls beside me. It\u2019s a cop, his head out the window as if he\u2019s delivering mail. He points his big forearms toward a sidewalk where I should wait.<\/p>\n

Next to me now, this cop, asking if I have drugs. I feel a light touch on my back and draw my hands up into the air. He asks if I mind, this thick cop whose soft hands swell me over. Perhaps he gets it, gets me.<\/p>\n

\u201cNot at all,\u201d I answer, seizing my crotch as if handing a cantaloupe at H.E.B. \u201cI\u2019ve got nothing to hide.\u201d<\/p>\n

Soon his weight diminishes. His bald & brown head sinks down to slide something back into his belt.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat the hell you doing,” he says, \u201cin this neighborhood?\u201d<\/p>\n

I point past the old brick boarding house toward Chavez Street, catching his stare as my arms lower. \u201cI live over there.\u201d I don\u2019t recall if he responds, but his eyes soften & sag. I pull my license from my back pocket. Tell him, too, that I\u2019m in law school.<\/p>\n

\u201cLaw school?\u201d he says, looking up from my license.<\/p>\n

I want to tell him why I\u2019m here and what I\u2019m doing. To ask him why he doesn\u2019t already know. \u201cI guess I\u2019m a little wound up,\u201d I finally blurt. \u201cWound up tonight.\u201d<\/p>\n

Now he\u2019s laughing. \u201cSo you drunk?\u201d My license slides from his fingers back to mine.<\/p>\n

\u201cI was\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGet in,\u201d he interrupts, opening the door and pointing toward the front seat.<\/p>\n

I want to shout: CAN\u2019T YOU SEE? Or is that we can\u2019t see past our first impression: a white boy in a sketchy neighborhood. He must be lost.<\/p>\n

Inside, the car feels dull & denuded. A few blocks later we pull up to my little yellow house, the human-sized sunflowers no longer swelling in the daylight.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou have to be careful,\u201d he says, his eyes shifting from mine as I exit the car to the dewy green stalks beyond the open passenger window.<\/p>\n

I wave him along and imagine walking up the steps toward my front porch even though I\u2019ll do no such thing until the dazzling dawn.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Like when I\u2019m not where I\u2019m supposed to be.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Here I am tonight on the Mexican side of town full now with Hondurans and Salvadorans, shabby streets and houses bursting with Latin American men who for some reason, sometimes, notice me.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":182,"featured_media":25160,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3529],"tags":[4905,4904,4903],"class_list":["post-24167","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-flash-nonfiction","tag-keepaustinweird","tag-latino","tag-lgbtq-masculinity","writer-chris-girman"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/24167","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/182"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=24167"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/24167\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":25159,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/24167\/revisions\/25159"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/25160"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=24167"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=24167"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=24167"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}