Papas Dulce, Mexico....

 EL CROW WAS AN OLD SOCIAL COWBOY WHO HAD DROPPED OUT OF HIGH SCHOOL OUR SENIOR YEAR, AND WHO SOMEHOW ENDED UP ENROLLED AT THE UNIVERSITY OF COLORADO IN BOULDER A FEW MONTHS LATER, BUT WAS KICKED OUT A COUPLE OF MONTHS AFTER THAT FOR SELLING STEROIDS TO SOME MEMBERS OF THE FOOTBALL TEAM AND OTHER GULLIBLE JOCKS.

THE THING ABOUT IT WAS--AND THE THING EL CROW NEVER TOLD ANYONE--WAS THAT WHAT HE WAS SELLING WASN’T ACTUALLY STEROIDS. IT WAS AN INJECTABLE FORM OF VITAMIN A. NOT THAT IT MATTERED. IN A PRIME EXAMPLE OF “MIND OVER MATTER” ALL THE FOOTBALLERS WERE SEEING INCREDIBLE GAINS IN THE WEIGHT ROOM.

“This is some of the best shit I’ve ever had,” THE PLAYERS WOULD EACH TELL HIM. “My bench numbers have exploded, bro. Bro, I’m totally crushing the smith machine. It’s fucking incredible. And my balls haven’t shrunk at all. Where did you get it?”

“Oh,” EL CROW WOULD REPLY SLYLY. “It’s just a little place called Papas Dulce down in Mexico.”

OF COURSE, EL CROW COULD’VE FOUGHT THE ALLEGATION AND WON, SEEING AS HOW THERE ARE NO LAWS PROHIBITING THE SELLING OF RETINOL TO STUPID JOCKS, BUT HE DIDN’T. HE LIKED THE IMAGE OR SOME SHIT.

AFTER ALL THAT HE RETURNED TO RIO FRIO BRIEFLY BEFORE MOVING ON TO SAN DIEGO, AND THAT’S WHEN HE PERFORMED THAT EERILY PRESCIENT TARROTT CARD READING BEFORE I HEADED OFF TO COLLEGE.

SOMETIME BETWEEN THEN AND NOW, EL CROW SAW ON TV A MAN WITH A TATTOO THAT SAID, "Playing it safe kills your soul." THE MAN WAS GOOD LOOKING, WELL-BUILT, ADVENTUROUS. EL CROW FIGURED THE MAN PROBABLY HAD LITTLE TROUBLE GETTING LAID SO HE IMMEDIATELY CAME TO IDOLIZE THE MAN. HE TOOK THE MESSAGE OF THE TATTOO TO HEART. HE IMMEDIATELY SIGNED UP FOR FOUR CREDIT CARDS AND WENT OUT AND MAXED THEM ALL OUT BY BUYING A CAR, “GAMBLING” (I.E. PAYING FOR PROSTITUTES) IN VEGAS AND BUYING ENOUGH TOM’S HOT FRIES TO LAST HIM A YEAR.

NOW, THOUGH, HE WAS UNEMPLOYED AND NOT LOOKING FOR WORK. THE DEBT COLLECTORS WERE SUPPOSEDLY ON HIS TAIL, BUT WHAT WERE THEY GOING TO DO? THEY COULDN’T GARNISH ANY WAGES, AND I DOUBT THEY EVEN KNEW WHERE HE WAS. WHO KNOWS HOW HARD THEY WERE EVEN AFTER HIM? THIRTY THOUSAND DOLLARS’ WORTH OF DEBT SEEMS LIKE A LOT UNTIL YOU REALIZE THAT’S ONLY LIKE A QUARTER OF WHAT YOUR TYPICAL COLLEGE GRADUATE OWES.

“Not maxing out all of my credit cards would’ve been playing it safe, Furious,” HE SAID.

ANYHOW, HE’D BEEN BACK IN RIO FRIO EVER SINCE, PARTIALLY IN AN ATTEMPT TO EVADE THE DEBT COLLECTORS, WHOM HE ATTEMPTED TO APPEASE BY SENDING A HUNDRED OR TWO HUNDRED BUCKS “HERE AND THERE” WHEN HE HAD THE LUXURY.