Love

The other day I bought a Filmink magazine from a concession stand at central station. On the cover was Danny Trejo, star of Machete, in all his bare chested, weaponed-up glory, flanked by the pouting Jessica Alba and Michel Rodriguez.

I pushed the magazine across the counter to the clerk who gazed down at it and softly said "ahhhh, she's cute isn't she" as he delicately stroked Danny Trejo's face with his index finger.

"Wh- ... pardon?" I said. His finger gently caressed Danny Trejo's pock marked face. stroke, stroke, stroke.

"she's cute." He placidly muttered. He was almost in a trance.

I looked down at the magazine cover. He was clearly gazing upon Danny Trejo. Alba and Rodriguez may as well have been two pet dogs on leashes- they didn't even register with him. It was all about Trejo.

"ummm, gorgeous." I offered uncertainly.

At once, he looked up at me, as if he'd forgotten I was there. He looked back down at the cover again. "Oooooohhhh. She looks like a man, I see".

At this point I was lost for words. I had no idea what his game was. Trejo was clearly twice as big as the other women on the cover. Bulky, tanned, scarred- a walking definition of masculinity. Plus he has a most enormous mustache on his face.

"Isn't it amazing what they can do with makeup these days?" he marveled.

I still don't know who he thought he was talking about.