Naked Under the Sun

The money is flowing into Culiacan, Mexico. BMW and Mercedes dealerships line the streets. Our hosts nonchalantly tells us about the narco mansion on the corner, the one that takes up a whole block. When I first saw it I thought it was a school, it was that big.

Our host says, “Last week, seven people were killed there.”

We’re told that the stretch of Highway 15 between Mochis and Navajodad is dangerous at night. Narcos often choose their targets from travelers stopping into a PEMEX. If the travelers look well-heeled, the narcos radio ahead with a description of the car. Roadblocks are thrown up and when the travelers stop they’re pulled from the car and everything they’re carrying is stolen.

I remember one story I heard about an elderly gringo couple who lost their way driving through the back streets of Tijuana, getting so lost that they finally stopped and asked for directions. That’s when they were stripped of everything they had. They were left naked standing in the middle of the street. I think of those two—probably at the stage of their loves where they undress with the lights off—now staring at each other naked under the sun. I hope they laughed and hugged each other. Maybe the old dude grabbed his cock and brandished it angrily at the doors and windows surrounding him. I have a feeling it was probably a lot worse than that, with tears and trembling and deep humiliation.