MJ originally published this over on the Stories from the Jukebox pub under his name — so I made him move it over here, and fix it. And I reckon that’s the end of that, cause I’m here to stay. Buckle up y’all🤠🤙
Warning: Explicit language and content.
Bang Bang was the name of a bar in Mexico. Its owner Jaco, was a French Canadian that’d been living there for a handful of years. And yes, I do mean living there as in living in the bar. His room was right across from the pool table. The bar was right on the beach, and never really closed so much as quieted from daylight to say—sometime in the afternoon. He’d close the entrance from the street at 3am, but the beach bar was completely open to the beach and Jaco welcomed anyone that found their way inside.
I met Jaco for the first-first time in a different bar. And yes, that statement was intentional as well—as Jaco didn’t remember meeting me that night, even though he was wearing the tee shirt I’d given him when we met that second-first time.
I was sipping on one of many vodka-skewdrivers the afternoon I first met Jaco. I’d heard of him, but hadn’t made it down to Bang Bang yet—I’d also heard that Bang Bang could get rather rowdy at times, and that’s not typically my kinda scene. Anyway, Jaco walks into Don’s Place and is greeted by Donny with a Dox Equis.
Donny introduces us and I say, “I like your shirt.”
Jaco’s response was one that I have never heard before or after, except for the two times I myself have repeated it. He said, “Wanna trade?”
“Huh?” I said more than asked, because I was completely dumbfounded by this question.
“I love the Braves man,” was his response. “Wanna trade shirts?”
I looked down at my chest and sure enough, my shirt said, BRAVES, across the front. “Ah, I don’t know man,” I said, still not sure what to do. I mean, I liked his Sublime shirt and all—but did I want to own it?
That’s when he said, “Come on man don’t be a pussy, it’s just a tee shirt.”
After we made the trade he screamed, “America’s team!” Gave me a high-five, then ran out leaving his half drunk and unpaid for beer on the bar. I could hear Jaco hollering the Braves War Chant as he walked down the street.
He was still wearing the Braves tee two days later when we met again for the first time, and quite pleased to hear my account of how he’d procured it. So pleased in fact that I was his honored guest that night at Bang Bang. And not only would he not let me pay for a drink, when I woke the next day he immediately passed me a fat ass doobie—totally disoriented it took me a few tokes to realize that I was lying on Jaco’s single cot, in his room. He was sitting across from me, at a small wooden table having breakfast.
When I asked him where he’d slept, he replied, “I’ll sleep when I’m dead.” Then offered me some of his breakfast—which was actually just a plate of cocaine. 🤪
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