This place is starting to get to me. Had a bit of a breakdown in the wax museum this afternoon. Trying to figure out if I should try to get a full night sleep and hope all goes well at the border on a busy Sunday morning, or raise hell for a couple more hours here on the strip, and then right at the crescendo of things, just after midnight, one suave gabacho will saunter his way up to an immigration officer, performs crude Jedi mind tricks (look ’em right in the eye and lie), try to remember where I parked the Panty Dropper on the American side, and, if it’s still there, throwing my bag in the seat and tearing ass back to Fecal Creek tonight, trying to beat the sunrise. I’m going to have some desk tequila about this and see what happens.
N.P.: “Fortunate Son” – Creedence Clearwater Revival