one time... i almost got married.

i was driving down the 85. on the overpass off the overpass on the pleasanthill exit. i was speeding, im sure. going 80, 85 maybe? i could hear myself starting to be scared. i felt my heartbeat in my ears, the beads of sweat starting to build on my forehead. and then everything went in slow motion for a second, my life didn't flash before my eyes, i was strangely aware of everything, there were no cars behind me, the wall was too close to me... and then everything was in fast forward one wall, then the next wall, then the next...each scrape on the side of my car to match the ones in my heart.

the tire was starting to pull away from the car, like my life slipping away from my hands. my heart pounding louder than i've ever felt it, like i had just been running the last three months of my life, and finally stopped. like my world was crashing. along with my car.

for a split second i saw the wall. not more than three feet tall. surprising actually. the car could have flipped over. the car could have gone over the edge. all the edges and boundaries had been pushed, why not this one? and why not this one too? what did it mean to be standing here, next to the car? the scraped, bruised car... matching the interior.

This is what I look like. this is what i was. broken, scraped parts, a torn off tire, smashed mirror, unusable parts... al laid out before me, pushed to the edge, but not thrown over.

legal alien- pat mora

Bi-lingual, Bi-cultural,
able to slip from "How's life?"
to "Me'stan volviendo loca,"
able to sit in a paneled office
drafting memos in smooth English,
able to order in fluent Spanish
at a Mexican restaurant,
American but hyphenated,
viewed by Anglos as perhaps exotic,
perhaps inferior, definitely different,
viewed by Mexicans as alien,
(their eyes say, "You may speak
Spanish but you're not like me")
an American to Mexicans
a Mexican to Americans
a handy token
sliding back and forth
between the fringes of both worlds
by smiling
by masking the discomfort
of being pre-judged
Bi-laterally.

the best things about pizza is leftovers

who doesn't love a hot delivered pizza? hot melted cheese, pepperoni, and a cold glass of milk- yes im weird, i like pizza and milk, that's not the point.

not me. there's something special about leftover pizza. all that remains from a late night party, crazy times, movie night, late night snack. all the pieces that no one wanted last night are here waiting for you in the morning. it's like all the experience and knowledge that you gain everytime something goes good. or bad. all the life lessons that you take away after everything is said and done. it may not be just delivered, it may not be exactly what you expected, it may not even be what you wanted, but it's there for you in the morning. waiting, and offering all its yummy goodness.

yes there is something to be said about a hot pizza, but i'll take the leftovers, thank you.