The Night Bullet
Hole Taco Was Born
It was somewhere around 11pm in a rental car that smelled like airport and bad decisions. We'd been waiting for hours — flights landing at different times, too much to drink, nowhere to be but somewhere to go. Sedona was calling.
But first, someone needed to eat. That someone was me.
I wanted tacos. Real tacos. Not the kind with a number combo and a drive-through window — the kind from a place where the sign is half-lit and the cook doesn't speak menu. I grew up in Southern California. I know what a taco is supposed to be.
Someone asked how we'd find a place like that in the middle of the night.
"Good tacos only come from places with bullet holes in them."
The car went quiet. Then everyone laughed. Then someone said we should find one. We did. It was perfect.
That night I became Bullet Hole Taco — the guy who trains hard, eats real food, and never apologizes for either. This journal is for people who get it.
