Monday, October 31, 2005

Ah, La Frontera

Nogales is the city of kings and the passageway of thugs. No matter. The Evil men do lives after them. The Ray-Bans, they wear on their faces. The true test of los contraband es los Rolex. Senor Manuel had Rolex for 80 American and Don Pepe had Rolex for 32 American. No choice, mes brers.

In the land of my Mexican bretheren, I trust no man named Louie. Nor do I have faith in a man named Rocco (though his sister, Marguerite, was cute). Rocco can go back to La Roca. Hasta Luego.

The punks and slugs follow you and it is imperative that you shoo them like so many flies. Strip joints and massage parlors. Silver bracelets that turn your arm green and leather jackets tanned with urine. They're fine until the first rain.

I know it's cruel, but the alternative es mas cruel. The beggars are another story altogether.

No, man. Rolex are the targets. Rolex be the prize. Settle for nothing less. Seiko are throw-away.

Interesting that you comment on beggars on Beggars Night.

Leo, you never skip a tick on your wristwatch. Say, is that a Rolex?
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