Taco Bell, 2nd Review

yelpingwithcormac:

Financial District – San Francisco, CA

Cormac M. | Author | Lost in the chaparral, NM

Three stars.

We do not hear from the man who ate the taco until November of that year, when he returned to the town on the back of a mule. The villagers gathered in the square reverently as if before them rode some great emissary. Staring with coalblack eyes at the man in his rags and on a crude cedarwood pike the halfeaten taco moldering. He dismounted and stood before them. And in a quiet voice he began to speak. The villagers overcame their fears and ancient taboos and approached him. To listen and to assure their eyes that he was of flesh and of blood.

The man spoke of his trials with the taco so terrible even God could not eat it. That it had cleansed not only his gut but also his soul. And a veil had been lifted and he could see the truth. And the villagers leaned in crossing themselves and gasping as he told them that God held no dominion over this land anymore and neither did the men from the capital. And in his blaspheme the villagers heard the truth. What began among them as a murmur nearly inaudible rose to a chorus of shouts. For even the elders could not deny the man who ate the taco spoke for them. And in his veins coursed the blood of their people and the downtrodden throughout those ashen hills.

And so. This is how the uprising began. How in the towns of that country under the cobalt vault of the sky impassive and immutable the villagers took to arms under the banner of the halfeaten taco. What was to come was not man’s doing but of some celestial machinery. Who are we to ask why? For once the taco was eaten it could not be uneaten nor could the tragedy looming be diverted or waylaid.