I needed a taco and I needed it bad. A couple blocks from the set there was a taco van parked on the street, its aluminum sides lustrous and smooth as an unused spoon. I looked at it like man wandering in the desert might look at a group of naked women having a squirtgun fight. There it was, all gleaming and flushed with a daydream quality, swollen with tacos and the promise of tacos to come.

A sign on the side of the van listed all the different types of tacos it served, and to the right of the items it listed their prices. I noticed that the sign was not hand-written, but rather that it was made by locking plastic letters into place on top of a white board. After further examination I realized that the letters could be removed and rearranged by simply popping them out of place; that way, you didn’t have to buy a new sign every time you changed your menu. “Incredible,” I said under my breath, “this is no ordinary taco wagon.”

That was when I noticed that the van was empty, and that on the counter was another sign. This sign read, “out for drink, be back soon / no stealing!”

Soon? How soon was soon? I needed a taco in the worst way, but I had time until my next scene and was willing to wait just a few minutes to meet the proprietor of this most unusual establishment.

I waited fifteen minutes and was starting to get a little antsy. I kept digging through my jacket pocket, as if there would be tacos in there for some reason. Then I noticed that there was a bar across the street, and I reasoned that if the owner of the taco wagon had gone out for a drink, as his sign had said, he might be found in there. I crossed the street and walked into the saloon.

It was a stale and dark-looking place, full of every shadow that hadn’t died under the Hollywood sun. There was a man slumped at the otherwise empty bar that looked like he might be the owner of the taco wagon. Somehow the scene had taken on a sort of mythic air, and I knew this would be one of history’s lunches.

“What do you drink,” asked the bartender.
“I’ll have what he’s having,” I said, indicating the taco vendor.
“A whole bottle of flavored tequila?”
“Yes.”

He fetched a bottle and brought it back to me. “You look like that guy who was in Goodfellas,” he said, handing it over.
“No,” I said, facing the taco vendor, “I’m just a man who wants a taco.”
“No tacos in here, mister,” said the taco vendor.
“You’re right,” I nodded, “they’re out there. In that van.”
“Now lay off him,” said the bartender, “I know you’re hungry, but the man’s got a right not to make tacos if he doesn’t want to.”
“So leave me alone,” said the man,”Taco Brothers Taco Express is closed forever.”
“Taco Brothers?”
The bartender sighed slowly. “Yeah, well, he used to be in business with his brother, but his brother, uhh…”
“He’s dead!” moaned the taco vendor.
“Poor taco man,” I said, “boo hoo hoo.”

I wasn’t going to just let him sit there and wallow. There was only one thing I was in the mood for, and it sure as hell wasn’t self pity. Besides, someone had helped me once.

“Jesus, look at yourself,” I said, “a million die every day and you’re the only one who gets to cry about it?”
“Why won’t you leave me alone, stranger? The world is full of tacos!”

The bartender silently moved his rag around on the surface of the bar, disgusted. I took a step backward and unscrewed the top of my bottle of tequila. I moved it toward my mouth to take a big fat swig.
“Yeah, maybe you’re right,” I said.

The taco vendor watched me, his lip beginning to quiver. He was a good man, and he loved his brother, who had only been dead for an hour and fifteen minutes, but in his heart he knew he wasn’t going to find the answer in a bottle of tequila.

Suddenly he jumped up and said, “No! I was wrong, I was wrong!” He knocked his bottle over with a sweep of his arm, it broke on the floor.
“Hey,” said the bartender.
“I’m going back to my van,” said the man. “What can I get you?”
“A taco,” I said.
He nodded and ran out the door. I put some money on the counter and turned to follow him.

“Say, stranger, I didn’t catch your name,” the bartender said.
“It’s Ray,” I said, turning around.
The bartender grinned out of the corner of his mouth. “Yeah,” he laughed, “that’s what I thought you’d say.”