La Balacera

I took a few sips standing in the kitchen
Watched the sun dive down on the world
Checked the time, it was a quarter to seven
I was already feeling tired of waiting
I put on my shirt and my jeans
Slipped the gun into the boot
Lit a candle at the feet of Saint Anthony
Patron saint of the outlaws

I flew on the bike to the bar La Cucaracha
Where the guys were waiting for me in silence
Fernet with Coke and whiskey with cigarettes
Death smelled like tobacco and coffee
The heist was more or less well planned
Over two months fine-tuning the details
Two of our guys pressuring the tellers
And I was out on the street in a rental car

But you know how these things go
There are always details that slip from the script
Some employee leaning on an alarm
Some trigger-happy fool rushing to talk
The first shot hit my left hand
I pulled the gun from my boot and opened fire
The police demanded I surrender
You’re surrounded, there’s no way to escape

Ten years, I replied, I’ve been surrounded
Ten long years without finding a job
What’s the point of being alive if I’m dead?
I don’t even need to wear a mask
If they heard me, they didn’t pay much attention
In an instant, the shootout began
I ended up sprawled on the sidewalk
After emptying the magazine

I think about this while I feel life
Slipping away towards death
I have the unloaded gun against my chest
A hole that’s hard to fill
My face pressed against the asphalt
Cold hands and even my breath hurts
I know it’s daytime but it feels like night
I’ll ask Saint Anthony about it
I have no one and I’m not leaving much behind
Just a bike at the bar La Cucaracha
Tell him everything and unlock the padlock
She already knows where she’ll wait for me