'That was Dr Brinkley's house,' said the steel guitar player, 'Know him?' 'Nope,' I said, 'Big place.' 'Doctor Monkey Gland they called him. Made five fortunes selling monkey gland potions to tired old men - guys who needed perking up, if you get me.' He laughed, and turned the pickup off the avenue and down towards the river, the border. We joined a short queue at the barrier. 'Fifty years I've been crossing this bridge,' he said. 'Or some bridge. Had a residency up in Abilene - my first big deal - and the singer says, Okay guys, get in the car, we're going down to Boystown! Hell, we'd hole up there for a week at a time - drinking, whoring - 25 cents or a buck for the night. You should've seen this place: nightclubs, bars, hot tamale men, music on every corner.' The border guard nodded at the steel player, leaned in the window. 'What you got in the back friend?' he asked. 'Just water. For my wife's sister's kids. They're sick. Good clean water, that's all they need. Can't get it over there.' The guard waved us through, and there was Boystown across the Rio Grande.
Duncan
McLean