Orale was the Answer.

Visited my friend Saul. He lives in the Old Colonias. Walking through the north-west side of Tijuana, that area promotes anything in the way of absolute poverty and filth. The sidewalks are debris strewn and cracked, despairing, beat individuals shit in the street, rummage and then consume scraps from vast mounds of garbage, entrepreneurs encompass every corner cooking up hideous, stinking jumbles of food which they peddle to passerby. Old men blink in the sun, female prostitutes look furtive and miserable, and slouched on a red stool under a rusted awning of a burrito stand, the dark brown crotch of the sleeping pimp swells with syphilis.

As evening fell, Saul and I both were bored and I came up with the brainstorm of visiting every bar we could and at each cantina down one shot of tequila and move on to the next. We became adequately faded - Saul and I stumbled down Calle Coahuila, home to many squalid dives and whorehouses.

Ambivalent transvestite hookers drift under yellow street lamps, eyes luminescent with methamphetamine, they lean against outcroppings of crumbling red brick walls, talk in silent, catatonic gestures, frescoes of elusive depravity, flat two dimensional howls drift into the night: “Orale…Joselito! Carlos!”

Stagnant patter of commerce: “See the show! Naked lady!”

“Nice girl, meester?”

A hideous soiled mouth blows smoke rings into the night, “Wanna fuck me, baby?”

Saul and I jet into the bar Kin-kle, a tacky queer joint with a mangy, over stuffed bullhead above red metal double swinging doors where guys would show you their erections for a beer. In the dark alcove booths, drunk and horny, Saul and I made out under the vigilant eye of a waiter with a hard on. Patrons passed us with indifference as I masturbated Saul to an unscrupulous climax under the red covered table, his lanky body entwined with mine.

“The fundamentals of it all, it ain’t right.” Sniffs the envious old expat sitting alone and indignant at the bar. He ejects his resentment like a thick fog.

“Why dontcha mind your own business for once?” I slur, wiping the glistening residue of Saul’s discharge off my thumb with the red table cloth.

Later that evening, Saul and I committed crimes against nature in Hotel Coliseo. Finding myself lying on my stomach with Saul on top thrusting into me, boy did I get the better end of the deal - slapslapslap - lean arms wrapped around my torso and neck. My back is bitten passionately. My face pressed against the dingy pillow - I feel Saul’s hot breath against my left ear as he gets closer to his climax. Closed my eyes and with clenched teeth, felt hot semen squirt up into me. Afterwards we shared a joint, our shoulders touching under the covers as ominous shadows slowly crawled across stark, depressing walls.

Saul mumbled, “I gotta go, guero.”

I watched as he wordlessly covered his smooth brown frame with well-worn clothes. I dressed, listening to the whore earning her rent down the hall.

Down at the corner, Saul hits me up for 100 pesos. I slap the note into his hand and both of us saying laters, Saul went to do whatever Saul had to do.

Walking up from that cesspool of Coahuila - Zona Norte, (the Red Light District, ignorant asshole, keep focused) - I turn the corner into the Plaza accosted by screaming queers on all sides - and, man, were they out in force that night - when a truckload of Tijuana fuzz gang fucks me.

Encircled by menacing, black uniformed stormtroopers, a pint-sized fat one asked where was I going and before I could answer, barks for my identification.

Tall, smooth cop explained in English - now get this: “We had a report of a white American who fits your description buying drugs here in the Plaza.”

“My description?”

“Si, light hair, glasses, black clothes. May I have permission to search your person?”

Why not? You’re hot. So, up against the adobe wall and goosed - asked if I ever take drugs.

Never.

Never?

Never.

“We are just doing our job, senor - we are here to protect el turistas such as yourself.” Says hot cop, giving me his One Adam 12 production as he empties my pockets, placing my articles on the filthy concrete. Opens wallet fat with peso notes all the colors of the rainbow.

Can kiss that wad goodbye, I thought.

However, the troopers took nary centavo one and let me be with a cuidado and roared off in their Keystone Cops paddy wagon.

Casually lit a cigarette and walked into the darkness teeming with the perverse and sexual predators, the thump thump of the queer bars rattling in my skull. Cute Aztec Indian lad smiles with palm out for the soft touch. I drop a fist full of coins into his calloused hand. Always been a sucker for a pretty face.

Stopped in a cantina and downed two quick beers - nasty hooker cooch eying me and I give her the leave me the fuck alone glance back.

Old Mexican drunk with thick black mustache and deranged look in his bleary eyes snaps, “Leave! You don’t belong here!”

“Man, you don’t even know me. What did I do to you?”

“I just don’t like you.” The old drunk snarls and explodes into a mosaic of glitter and confetti. “Ugly American!” He screams before being sucked into the darkness of a toilet stall glory hole.