MS13 times two.

Attended a house party with my good thugs Saul and Hector last night in the wilds of TJ - that's Tijuana in Mexico for you ignorant assholes - anyway much booze and mota y coca was consumed by gangstas and nacos like veracious ravenous beetles. Dark silhouettes in tepid grey smoke mill about the shadows in clots and groups passing plastic cups containing tasty beverages.

The hacienda - old Spanish colonial style trap that seemed to be crumbling under it's own weight - was nestled at the foot of the Great Mountain. The house was an obvious gangland hideout - rusted used cars piled in the yard home to filthy dusty dogs and the home itself covered in candy colored graffiti. The host was a member of the notorious MS13 - his face and bald head an kaleidoscope of arabesque tattoos. Broad smile and introduced me to several nefarious villains of the night. Smoke smoke smoke we did - not all tobacco - stood in the kitchen with lethal Amazonian transvestites concocting their brew like macho mamacita witches.
Anyhoo, the shack was packed with a myriad of Mexicans and it seemed I was the only gringo in the joint and, yup, was under constant scrutiny - however I also was under the care of the titanic transvestites that guarded the kitchen entrance. When everyone got pleasantly toasted - the anxiety level dropped - somewhat.
At one point, some naco pulled out a gun in the back yard and caused a stampede of flesh - but the jerk was subdued by soldiers of the underground - never found out what happened and didn't wanna. Several drunk cholos made faggot remarks - bad ones - but moved on under the imperious glare of my sequined protectors.
Hooked up with skinny curly haired named David, he says - he of MS13 by act of Congress - asks if I play around. Sure, I sigh gazing a gazeless gaze into them dark foreboding eyes.

He puts lean brown finger up to my lips and smiles, "Loose lips sink ships round here. Don't worry - later you get your cookies, guero."

Party continued - reggeaton bangin' blared as doe eyed cha-cha girls back their thangs up - puchecos hip hop and down caguama after caguama...snatches of dialogue concerning the six bodies found near here the previous night decapitated, mutilated. Chuckles and smirks. The lights play long shadows on grimy walls as street soldiers pass giving me that eye.
'Round four David and I skiddadle burracho to a fifty peso a night hotel and do all kinda filthy crimes against nature - doggy is a fabulous position...gasps and lusty moans permeate the misty still night under that big yellow baneful moon...
Sunday mornin' - head hurt, ass sore - nothing outta the ordinary. David says laterz and I high tail it back to Plaza Santa Cecilia in el centro for a scrumptious bowl of menudo.
Mexico is a dream.