Apá cierre las ventanas, the Swedish winter days with their cold winds are sneaking in, there is a draft.
Txale m’ijo, don’t give me any of that military jingoism in the weather nor that Father Winter caca, fuchila. The only winds allowed here are the Santa Ana winds. Traitor to proper Mexicans and an unholy father to the Xicanos. Curios how…
Pa’ dont go on with those soliloquies of yours. Besides the Santa Ana winds have nothing to do with Antonio López de Santa Anna.
M’ijo, ese, am dead, you’re not, let me tell my own tall tales will you? So keep your beak shut. Maybe you’ll learn something, Right Geronimo? Besides, patience es the virtue least sought these days so be paciente.
Paciente? am not sick ese.
I tell you Quetzalcóatl, please don’t let me say something that I may regret.
Pa’, you don’t understand my English so why should I understand your Spanish?
What the? Either way, as I was saying, Santa Anna, the unholy father of the Chicanos, hardly gets credit. Kinda reminds me of la Malinche. I saw him the other day. He stopped by the offices here at Yonder Lies It.
Yeah?
Yeah.
Good fellow. He was looking for his leg. He had it buried with full military honors and then forgot where he buried it. He smelled that stuff Cuco Sanchez drank before his death.
You mean Gusano Rojo?
Yeah.
M’ijo, it’s getting cold in here, you shut all the windows?
Pa’, am telling you.