Ultraviolence

Mucho Gusto

•~
It's the weekend. You promised yourself you'd bake a pie, so you will. When flipping through your cookbook, you came across a recipe for peach cobbler. Looked good enough. Like apple pie, but with peaches and way easier. You know you should take better care of yourself. You're looking skinnier than ever. It's not intentional. At least you don't think so. It's not like you want to feel as weak and tired as you do. You just don't have the energy to do anything, let alone cook nutritious meals and workout or whatever. Most of the time you don't even think about eating and when you do, you decide it's not worth the hassle. You've always been a thin girl, but you've noticed your collarbones have started to protrude and in certain lighting you can even see your ribs through your chest. It kinda freaks you out.

So, peach cobbler it is. You follow the recipe and think about the man from yesterday as you dump a can of peaches into the baking dish. It's not often that a man leaves an impression on you like that. There's just.. Something about him that intrigues you. You like the feeling it gives you.

It's too silent in your apartment. You grab your favorite cd, Californication by the Red Hot Chili Peppers. You nod your head to the rhythm of the music as you mix in the rest of the ingredients. You carefully slide the baking dish into the hot oven and plop down on your couch. After a while, your set timer beeps, telling you your creation is done. The smell of caramelised peaches sneaks it's way into your nostrils. Damn, that does smell good. You grab a bowl and scoop up some of the warm cobbler.
Not bad. The rest of your day is spent reading and daydreaming. Some might call it sad, you don't mind it that much. You wouldn't know what else to do with your time anyway. You're thinking of going for a walk tomorrow. Self care one step at a time. You could take your sketchbook with you. Yeah, that sounds like a plan.

It's 9 pm. You had another serving of your homemade baked goods for dinner and now you feel like the day's done. Sometimes you think about what other people of your age are doing right now. Partying? Going to the movies? You yawn. Where'd they even find the energy for that, you wonder. As you slip on your pajamas, you look in the mirror. Dark circles around your eyes, messy hair. You roll your eyes and go to the bathroom to brush your teeth and take your meds. The doctor had told you not to expect Zoloft to change your life, yet you were still disappointed when you realized they in fact weren't magic pills that'd instantly make you happy. Whatever, you still take them. They take the edge off.

As you lay in bed you can't help but think about the tall man. You think about his moustache. About the grey streak in his hair. His dark eyes. You wonder if you'll see him again.

•=

Ignacio wasn't lying about the chicken farm. Fring's network is bigger than Lalo thought. Impressive, he has to give it to the man. He respects El Pollero's dedication, though it would be so much better if his playing field would become Salamanca's. That guy is up to something. Don't worry, he'll find out what it is. He guesses he'll have to stop by Los Pollos more often.

"La niña from Friday, cute girl, no?" He asks as he turns to Ignacio, who's counting money in silence. Surrounded by the smell of El Michoacáno's fresh tacos. The Mexican restaurant where most of the Salamanca family's business takes place. And where they serve the best tacos in the world. But maybe Lalo's a little biased. He looks at Ignacio, awaiting a response.
"Uh, which girl?"
"Come on Nachito, don't be stupid. The little niña tímida."
Ignacio thinks hard.
"You mean the server from Los Pollos?" He has a confused look on his face. If Lalo wasn't in such a good mood he'd call it disrespectful. This guy.
Lalo had done some thinking over the last 1.5 days. Back in Mexico he can have a woman whenever he wants. He wouldn't call himself a sex addict or anything, but he definitely wouldn't mind a little fun on the side now he's stuck in New Mexico. Maldito Tuco. Always fucking up somehow. Damn temper of his.