You got the rant part exactly right, including the quotes, except one thing. I’m a 6:30 – 7:00 AM kind of guy.

I await Part IV.

“You, sir, are an anachronism. A stereotype. A figment of someone else’s imagination.”

With real satisfaction I noted that, like clockwork, the mood change had come just as he drained his second box of Cabernet Classique. He wiped his chin with a tamale husk and turned to consider me more closely. This only redoubledd my concentration on a point beyond the horizon.

“You would be intensely annoying, if it were not for the fact that you don’t exist.” In leaning over to jab my chest with this thumb he kicked the shoeshine boy in the nose. The pathetic figure continued to buff while trying to stanch the flow from a nostril with a polish applicator. My companion tossed a coin in the street and pushed him roughly away. “That’s enough, get lost.”

He was winding up for a four-alarm rant. I could scarcely conceal my delight. We had been at our usual table on the plaza for most of the afternoon. He had had me shift my chair several times to position my blistered pate between him and the sun and now it was beginning to drop behind the tiled rooftop of the Hotel Central.

“I suppose it was the pigeon remark that brought this on.” I had to tread lightly, no sense goading him into using the ring.

“I suppose it was the pigeon remark that brought this on.” He twisted his face into a nasty grimace and raised his voice to a squeal as he did a horrid impersonation of my newly acquired speech impediment. He belched loudly and called for another large box of red wine. “And I want it fresh. None of that old stuff.” He shouted after the retreating waiter.

“I simply said that the males seem unusually aggressive. In light of the fact that the females are clearly not interested. They should take the hint.”

“They should take the hint.” Again with the voice.

“These are not your effete, politically correct, ‘By your leave, missy’ gringo birds!” I tried to imagine the smell of Listerine and failed.

“These are unspoiled, hot-blooded, revolutionary LATIN pigeons. They see what they want and they take it! They part the feathers and have at it. Your pathetic rules of permissible behavior don’t apply here, Heloise!”

“No need to get so upset. I only meant that in a civilized, sophisticated, democratic society…”

“Oh? And where might that be?” You’re referring of course to that little banana republic just north of the border?” He cleared the table with broad sweep of his arm, held the wine over his head and made like a shopvac straight from the spigot.

“That little republic, for all its shortcomings, is based on the rule of law…”

“The law! That’s rich! You mean like the ‘law’ in Guantanamo? The Bay of Pigs ‘law’? The ‘law’ that contracted the Kennedy assassination? The ‘law’…

“Oh, please. Not that Kennedy thing again.” This was going beautifully.

“Yes, that Kennedy thing again. Do you deny that Kennedy was assassinated by Texas oil businesspersons concerned that he planned to end the Oil Depletion Allowance because he was acting to deneuter the Federal System, through issuance of Executive Order 11110?”

“OK. So you have a problem with the current administration. The system is designed to deal with that. Checks and balances. How about some of the Democratic candidates? How about Hilary?”

“Hilary? Don’t make me laugh. Hilary Clinton has gone through so many contortions trying to explain away her vote to authorize Bush’s Iraqi adventure and enunciate her current positions on the war I’m surprised she’s not in permanent traction. She will pander to just about any constituency to fulfill her desire to be president. Which in my book, qualifies her for immediate disqualification.”

I resumed my serene consideration of the horizon.

“Bahhhh. To hell with you. I gotta shit.” He threw up his hands in exasperation and started for the facilities. I glanced at the clock on the tower of the Bacilica Paris Hiltona Cathedral and noted it was exactly 5:19 pm. Say what you will about the man, he’s as regular as an atomic clock. Must be all that fresh fruit.

The entire cantina staff arose and hustled to assist with robes and headdress as their benefactor shambled toward the WC, beads rattling, feathers wafting. My chance had come at last.

Next Installment
Part IV – The Condi Man Can