Friday Night In Chicago

Friday night in Chicago, I head to the salsa bar.
I love the music and I love those Latin women,
Eventhough there’s always the threat of you
Getting your balls cut off…just a tradition.
The party is lively, the liquor flows freely.
And Juan says, “Let’s go home…Mejico.”
The plan:  load up on booze, drive all night,
Cross the border in the morning, get home,
Spend the day with the folks and drive back.
Seems a good idea to everybody.  My car, I drive.
Four amigos and me race south on Highway 57.
With any luck, John Law won’t slow us down.
It’s a fiesta party on wheels.  Music blasting,
Laughter, dead soldiers thrown out the window.
Fifty miles south, the inevitable starts to settle in.
Luis announces that he starts a new job Monday.
Paco says his sister said she could just watch
The kids overnight.  He needs to pick them up.
Martin calls them pussies, then starts to sober up.
To his horror, he realizes that he left his girlfriend
At the club with the wolves and no way home.
Juan don’t give a shit either way.  He just wants
Us to pull over somewhere so he can take a piss.
I stop for gas, turn the car around, head north.
No one seems to notice, they’re all too tired.
We reach the bar early evening.  Time to pay.
Paco’s sister had been calling the club all day.
He’s not in the ‘hot water’, he’s now in the fire.
Martin meets his ex-girlfriend’s new boyfriend.
Luis will make it to work, Juan buys another round.
Months later, after the memory of this fiasco fades,
We’ll be on the road again with the same result.