A land far from here.

Sometimes a man just feels called to leave the home and journey beyond the safety of his front porch. I can't say for sure, but I feel that something driving me outside every few days. That something gives me the will to rise up from my faux leather office chair, journey across my "needs to be mowed, but it's too hot outside" Bermuda lawn, look both ways and cross that neighborhood street to buy my lunch from the taco truck.

Some call it a Taco Truck.  Some call it a Roach Coach.  I used to be in the latter camp, but I've changed my tune since becoming a regular patron.  Fajitas, Tacos, Tamales, ay ay ay!!  Que delicioso!  For about $3.00, I'm treated to a complete, nutritious, hot lunch served by a somewhat appreciative server.  Quality is questionable.  Flavor is fair, but certainly full.  They say atmosphere is everything.  While ordering, I listen to the sounds of latino rhythms pumping from the boombox inside the truck.  Unfortunately, they play the same song on a loop, all the time...or maybe that is just my culture starved suburban ear's inability to distinguish between each of their spicy jingles.  I'm surrounded by "locals" there on the curb.  They are locals until at least November 12th; that's when the neighbors are scheduled to close on their new home.  These gentlemen smile and refer to me as "amigo" (I'm in!), but their baggy pants and absolute INFATUATION with the Taco Truck fare makes them a little sketchy in my book. 

The people, the food, the smells, the sounds all remind me of a land far from here, where individuals like us are reminded to cherish those that love you, be thankful for what you have, lay back, soak it all in and enjoy life.  Just don't leave the resort.