In a little Cafe; on the other side of the border...

It was getting late and my new friend, Rodrigo, had just bought another round of tequila shots. I wasn't sure if it had been 2 hour or 2 weeks, but we had been in this bar a while and I was starting to think something was up. Again I tried to say; "I need to go, I've got to get back to my..."

But I was cut off by Rodrigo's laugh. He would charm me with another wonderful story of being out to sea and his crazy adventures. Oh how I could listen to that man talk. His eyes told the story, and the tattoos on his arms were the pop-up book that accompanied. But when he said something about a meatloaf, I new that there was a very good possibility that this was going to be the last night I was going to be alive.

I quickly pushed my way back from the table and jumped up. Being that this was my first night that I had gotten really drunk with the new leg, I just as quickly stumbled to the floor. Being to drunk to get up I started flopping around like a fish out of water. I managed to get up and swing myself into motion. But being new to this walking thing I thought I was running to the door, but two of Rodrigo's men sort of hurried, maybe a little less then a skip, in front of me and stopped me at the door.

I awoke the next morning in a tub of ice. Written on the wall, in what I could only imagine to be the blood of the dead guy next to me, was: Thanks for the Thymus.

Moral of the story, always eat your vegetables.