Thursday, September 23, 2004

South of the Border

Do you ever look at your shiny new black sporty yuppie-style sedan and wonder what you might get for it in Tijuana?

Do you picture yourself cruising down that long stretch of open desert highway; arm lolling out the open window; big 70s copper shades stuck on your face? Your music is rattling the little speakers in your doors and making your grin widen into an all-out smile. The wind teases your hair playfully sending little chills down your spine. Everything you feel and see adds to your rush—you got to keep moving baby.

When you get to Mexico, you find a wiry little man with a gold tooth in a café who will purchase your car—no questions asked. You then spend half the money from the sale on blow and bus tickets to the coast. Soon, you’re ensconced in a beach hut on the gulf; dealing to the tourists for money for Tequila and hookers.

The days reel out in a series of spectacular crimson sunsets over the dark water. Ocean breezes sooth your ragged soul. You spend your nights telling stories about life in Canada—the endless snow and office politics are inconceivable to your local friends. The hookers just smile and nod at your halting Spanish.

Do you see yourself there on the white beaches in the cool gulf evenings? You’re growing grey and permanently sunburnt; with deep laugh lines. You’ve become calm and still. Do you see yourself staring out over the blue and green seas with only fond amusement at long gone cares?

Maybe it’s just me.


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