She sits on the cold stone stoop. She looks neither left nor right.
Her head is bowed, mostly, her left hand extends for alms.
The hand rests on her knee. It is rigid and curled into an unnatural cup. A shape carved over a lifetime. A boney cup meant to hold, pesos, centavos.
Give or don’t give. It is all the same. Continue reading
Something was a little off when Moppit and I reached the Ancha on our walk early this morning. Not a single car was parked on the normally busy thoroughfare that divides Centro from Colonia San Antonio.
On any other day, both curbs would be lined with cars.
Either somebody was going to be moving a giant house down the street on a flatbed — or there was a parade scheduled. Continue reading
What crimes were perpetrated upon society, so heinous that such innocent-looking flowers should be locked behind bars?
I ask you.
Are they behind these bars for our protection?
Are they the offspring of legendary Bella Donna? Kin to the deadly sweet-smelling Nerium Oleander? Gang members of Titan Arum, alias the stinky “corpse plant”? Continue reading
Musings, Magic, San Miguel and More 