It was my money financing the whole project. I bought the land, drew the blueprint of each neighborhood. My architects designed each custom-built home as well as all the community spaces. My landscapers designed beautiful gardens. My workers built it all, their sweat helping to make Cielito Lindo the heaven of which I had dreamed since I was a child building cities in the sand.

So, imagine my surprise when I discovered the names I had chosen for the streets of my village required approval.

And not just one person or entity. Not just a rubber stamp of approval that the one funding the project might be excused for expecting.

No.

County officials had to ensure the names were unique.

Seriously?

Do you know how many Main Streets there are? There is one in every single town in this county...along with First, Second, Third, Oak, Maple and Pine. Not one (maybe one) of my streets was so common as to cause Uber or Google Maps issues.

Then, the public safety commission had to make sure that the names were easy to use and understand in an emergency. I guess that's how Manlove Avenue, Hooker Street and Shades of Death Road made the cut. Very easy to use and understand.

No, those are not the names of my streets.

I thought we were done and then public works had to get involved.

I don't know why.

But at that point, I had had it because I discovered there was a state naming commission that had the final say.

I was happy to find a friend or two on said commission and managed to get on the same well before my case was on the docket.

I'm pleased to say that, although I could not vote on my own project, I was able to encourage my peers to see things my way, and thus, the streets of Cielito Lindo include: Aster Avenue, Begonia Boulevard, Sunflower Street, Daisy Drive, Cornflower Crescent, Lily Lane, Rose Road, Solidago Strip (I had to fight for that one), Tulip Terrace and Willow Way. Amaryllis Avenue was rejected, but I wasn't married to it, so I didn't mind. I replaced it with Poppy's Place.

My daughter thinks I named it for my dad.

So, of course I had to build him a house there.

Mine is on Willow Way.

I named it after my daughter.

And then we planted the trees.

He paced back, and forth in the room that had a ceiling which reminded him of the Sistine Chapel art. Then he stopped to stare at his lady, and her beautiful curly dreadlocks all tossed about her dark copper toned face. Michelangelo himself would have most likely tried to sculpt something which sort of resembled this non-winged angel. He wanted to lean in forward, and give her a final embrace. But decided it was best for him to quickly pack all his belongings, and skedaddle.

He called for a taxi right away. Once it arrived, he grabbed his stuff, and marched out of the mansion through the back door. No one noticed him leave around the witching hour.

The drive away from what had been his home for a long while had not been an easy one. All he could think about was his lady.

He felt a stream of tears begin to slowly trickle down from the corner of his eyes. The thought of his close buddies seeing him in such a manner would have drive them into heaps of laughter. He had told them when they were just little boys that his father had mentioned to him when they were out fishing that, “grown men do not cry…!’’ If only his father could have seen him now, too. He would not be proud at all, seeing his little boy now a grown man sobbing in the back of a taxi.

When he arrived at his final destination, he took the sights in. There was only a small crowd of folks in a marketplace. Some folks looked as if they were ready to go out fishing; sights of a few lads holding bunches of newspapers in their hands brought a smile on his face.

With a slight hop on his step, he galloped into a nearby office. There he noticed a young boy sitting at a desk. He approached him, and asked, “Are there any job vacancies in this here town, kid?’’

The young lad blinked his eyes at first. He stared at the man as if he was asking a question in another tongue. The kid slowly blinked his eyes, “Oh…sorry..eh— you looking for a job?’’

He handed the man a large form which he told him to fill out, and hand back to him. Once he did that, the kid handed him a briefcase that at first the man looked puzzled. The kid smiled at him, “It’s for your new job. The only one that is available is street namer. Ah- the former one did not live up to the horrors and thrills of the work.’’

“You must be joking. Right?’’

The kid shook his head after bursting out into laughter. “Nope. Anyway, I wish you all the best of luck, my friend, because you are going to need it!’’

#CORVUS. 20.06.2025

I got the city job

A big office with bigger lights

Was an Anarchist at a young age

Some of that spirit in me still fights

A briefcase with city plans

A computer screen of graphs

All this information offered

Even though none of it was asked

They all had names at one time

But to rename them is the mission

The paved framework of our lives

And to these streets I choose to listen

I could name them for the greats

Your Malcolms and your Kings

Or I could phone it in

Name them after endless natural things

We have enough oaks

Maples, elms and cherry's

What does the street FEEL like

Who uses it on the daily

I dont know that neighborhood

I've never driven near this block

Should I leave it as is

Or should I just take off

I need to experience these roads

Take in all their weight

Only then can I make a decision

On if they should be changed

Then it dawns on me

I begin to think differently

All of the people here

Are better equipped than me

So I fill in those lines

My pen seemingly doing the work alone

Its not for me to change anything

Cause every street is someones home

There is a street in Bradenton, Florida, called Cortez Avenue. Hernán Cortés de Monroy y Pizarro Altamiran conquered the Aztec Empire in 1521, as what would be later known as a Conquistador for Spain. He enslaved the Aztec population, and millions were wiped out by his gifts of smallpox and the measles virus he brought to the New World.

In Florida, where some things emerge in the strangest of ways, it seems ironic to be cruising down Cortez Avenue, so named due to this historical figure's alleged hero status. So, I bask in the irony that I have been assigned by the governor to name the streets of a new development sprouting from the northernmost end of Cortez Avenue. When I'm finished, a typical commute will be thus:

I take Cortez Avenue down to Dahmer Drive and take a right at Hitler Heights. From there, I'll cut across the Pol Pot Thruway to the Hussein Exchange where Qusay Boulevard turns into Uday Circle. There, I'll take the Saddam roundabout and take the first exit that points me to the al-Gaddafi Grotto at Supreme Leader Estates next to New Jonestown, where the Weapons-of-Mass-Destruction playground is being defoliated.

I'll stop at the Mao-n'-Stop to pick up a Lunchable™ for work, and soon I'm back on my way, taking the Idi Amin President-for-Life Freeway, past the Carter Center for Inflationary Studies. Finally, I'll park at the nearby Stalin Park-and-Run, and it's only a short forced march down Genghis Khan Street to my job at Trump Tower.