On older Mexican gentleman in a cowboy hat stumbles out of a white pickup truck as I eat my tacos on Beverly Blvd in East LA. He catches me off guard and asks if I know where the funeral is on Beverly. He’s quite drunk and slurring his words. I don’t know where the funeral is, I tell him as much but he insists that I know. He’s surprised that I don’t know and begs me to reveal the location of the funeral on Beverly. He’s wearing cowboy boots, his shirt has studs on it, he reeks of alcohol and sweat. I cannot reason with him and he is becoming agitated. There’s a split second where I think I’m going to be thrown into the back up the pickup, that the Eastside is about to get revenge on this soft Westsider for his taco antics. But then the old man stumbles off and gets back into the pickup and it’s all over.
But the night was not over. The tacos I ordered (asada and al pastor) were 50c each and the asada was tasty enough to go back for two more. The chile flavor stuck to the back of my mouth, I chomped a jalapeno, the cold grape soda put out the fire. I forgot about the encounter, two tacos for $1 will do that. I ordered two more asada and another jalapeno. Somehow a plate of tacos and a jalapeno and the roar of the traffic on Beverly makes me forget that I am late with this months rent, that I am getting older, that my dog craps his own bed. But somewhere on Beverly a funeral is missing their cowboy so I have nothing to complain about.
Tacos Estillo Beverly
tacos 50c each
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