'MON DIEGO LA CHOICE'
And what the hell was that? The
street guy mumbled, 'It means the
God of my choice.' I answered back,
'Well then just say that and forget
all the mumbo-jumbo. That's Creole
for bullshit too.' And then I walked
away. He came back at me, his ragged
claw of a hand grabbing my shirt-tail
and pulling me around. I fully expected
trouble, or a dagger in the gut. It was
after all Carnival time, when that God's
sacred altar drink is apparently holy
whiskey or holy beer. 'W-we talked,
so now I've got to give you these
beads.' I took what he jabbed out at
me - some foolish ceramic beads.
'I gotta' take a piss,' he said, leaning
on the building and running a stream.
'See this,' he said, 'see this,' glancing
down at his self - 'Mon Diego la
choice; mon Diego la choice.'