monotony is key

The humid night invades the city in great hustler infested parks where rats infected with putrescent disease romp through ruined kiosks, the stone Emancipator, tired horse and tired rider...stone generals resemble frozen lunatics who advocate liberty under the ever-glaring eye of the withered Zonky. Two old Mayan pedophiles, fine as an ivory chessman, convene on an anthropomorphic limestone seat, sipping limonada... scrutinizing the rent boys slinking past, hawking their asses…

The throbbing brown crotch of a pimp swells and rots with syphilis, nacos blink in the sun, preteen boys sit in long rows under shaded galleries reading manga comics - they do not move their legs as people walk by...

There is something elusive the casual tourist never sees nor finds: Dirty undershorts thrown over a disintegrating concrete balcony, blistering iron roofs where non-descriptive flora in grimy plastic containers grow on perilous terraces, federale in a black uniform and black glasses, the dull life-sick hate congested in his eyes like scorpion poison... Smell of el Mar and vast garbage dumps, sewage, drying marijuana...

Row upon row of sinister hoochie houses in Centro stocked with doped-up whores, insidious agents of disease. The doormen, expert pickpockets like all in the area, can lift the turista’s wallet with a macho goose and stomp a drunken faggot into the asphalt...

A young man named Juan Carlos moved in next to my room, asphyxiating me with futbol scores...thin and sickly and continually fidgeting with candles and religious icons of that condescending bitch Guadalupe, goes on and on about his novia and lack of funds to support her...A cockroach crawls slowly up the blue chipped paint wall...I look out my window to the hotel across the street. A dark-skinned whore of Mayan descent with floppy breasts and discolored teeth stood in the door and asked for a cigarette from a scrawny young man... She steps in and takes off her yellow slip and stands naked...the young man drops his ragged pants - erection swinging free - and lies down on the dirty bed, smoking a Delicado, hard and waiting...

Cut to the Plaza...Spilling out in abstruse cavorting and sudden static outbursts of violence, a young man leapt to his feet brandishing a rusty switchblade and spins around, screaming, “No me toca, maricones! His eyes light up, flicker and go out...he collapses and shits his pants with fear, the police surround him and stomp him to dust. Tourists are warned theft and murder are epidemic in Tijuana and usually go unpunished...there are entire areas blah blah blah ...tourists amble about with the shadow of paranoid madness in their eyes...

Stroll through The Park for borrowed flesh. An old queen consumed in frustrating passion, fidgets on an iron wrought bench. Two young men saunter past him shirtless in the summer heat, smooth copper skin and corrugated abdomens…a boy turns, snarls at him and spits, “What are you staring at, ugly faggot?” Inside he screams in frustrated passion, outside an enigmatic mask of dark glasses and ashen face…