-eldorado (m.)

Part - 6

El Paso del Conte is the only place in the world where deeply rooted, american cowboys’ culture from old westerns meets influences from the South, where Mexico knocks to the doors from the bottom. Sprawling flatlands, prairies and galloping horses on the left, and desert-like lowlands surrounded by mountains on the right.

They say family looks good only on the photos they put on shelves in living rooms and Texas looks good only on postcards. In reality, El Paso del Conte is for the whole state like dust you brush off your jacket before leaving the house, like a piece of food stuck to the plate you have to wash after dinner.

Said cultural diversity is the most apparent on the right bank of the Morricone river, in Dolores’ tavern, where mariachis are accompanying during local men’s beer sessions. Abstraction more evident than on Picasso’s paintings but the city takes pride in it. Instead of american ‘thank you’, most people shout ‘gracias!’ here. Instead of dancing to the pop hits from the top of Billboard list, locals break their backs trying to keep up with the macarena moves.

It’s truly chaotic.

You find yourself in this kind of environment right now, staring at your empty glass and trying to process why the God himself hates you that much, that he again puts on your way no one other than–

“Park fucking Jimin,” you grit through your clenched teeth. ‘’Why on Earth it has to he him again?”

Well, I probably deserve that, you reply to yourself in your head because, as you can easily guess, the real answer from the above would never come.

Dolores seems to be completely bewildered of your current state. She’s been talking passionately about certain blonde young man and her wish to see him for the second time here for the past ten minutes. Now however, she decides to change the subject of her tirade. You don’t really listen to her rambling about recent divorce of hers (with the man who’s actually the sheriff of the most dangerous town in the world, El Paso del Conte). Instead, you plot a strategy in your head how to avoid Park Jimin and his philosophical allusions to life on the very small quadratic surface of the city.

The more you sit in the only tavern in El Paso del Conte, the more you realise that the likelihood of meeting him here during lunch hours is almost hundred percent high.

That’s why you pack all your things, waving a goodbye to Dolores who, as a farewell tells you to, “Say hi from me if you meet the blonde angel out there, sweet pea!”. Oh, you have no idea how gladly I will welcome him, you answer her in your head, exiting the tavern where mariachis just have started playing their local remix of Despacito.

The clock hits noon and sun shines brighter than on fucking Sahara in the summer. You make your way again to the place where you were in the morning, where you’ve begun your searching for something not quite exactly definite. From the limited sources gained in Madrid by the historians of the group, Jungkook and Yeri, you found out that this territory was explored by the Europeans looking for the gold in 16th century. Any other traces kind of disappear in the year 1585, when someone named Juan made a map the copy of you have now in your backpack. But something is telling you (probably your inner instinct) that this is going to be a huge piece of treasure. And an unforgettable journey.

After reaching the river’s valley, you start walking into the direction of where you suppose the source is. Without an established plan in your mind, you’re just exploring the territory, like the professional you are. From unknown to you reasons, you’ve decided to start humming the old pop songs and before you could realise what the fuck you’re doing, the words of Baby one more time are falling out from your mouth. Although deep down you feel like Work B**ch would suit your current situation better.