Geno's Roaches

On youth's restless green puff I rode a greyhound bus southbound. Everything I owned stuffed into one duffel bag. Forty eight hours on highway x. It was getting dark so I settled for the first dive I could find. One room with peeling pink walls a large painting of a red heart against black somebody pretending to be Peter Max. The next night-I popped into "Geno's bar", to watch a football game. There was a handful of locals-nobody spoke. I could see cock roaches racing over the hotdogs. I was young and beyond hungry but settled for the vending machine. As Geno would reach for a hotdog, the roaches would scurry off. By the time the dogs reached the counter they were hot, glistening and roach free. Old Geno just smiled as he handed them their roach dogs. Then quickly took their money. It was our dirty little secret, after all I was the new guy and didn't want to cause a stir and bug bomb his patrons. Geno handed me a free beer just before halftime, I guzzled it down and left him to his roaches soon after.