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Member since: Sun Sep 11, 2005, 06:53 PM
Number of posts: 25,785

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I woke up in the train station in Los Mochis, Mexico.

I had slept the night in a chair, feet up on another chair. The people on the landing were up already,
busy with making coffee and biscuits in the shade next to the tracks. I saw a guy pass a few times,
he looked at me. I was a long haired gringo, the only gringo among the hundred or so folk on the landing.
Not a beer in sight, but I bought a coffee and a sweet roll and sat down, waiting for the train back to Arizona.
The guy finally came up to me and asked "tu sabes mota"? Do you know grass? Oh si I said, and he motioned me to
follow him. We walked a ways, off the landing and into the underbrush where there were a group of migrant
cotton picker guys, their cotton collection bags tucked under their belts, seemingly their only possession.
One of them rolled a huge joint and we all got quite stoned. Then another picked up a red ant and a black ant
in his palm, and we crowded around to watch the battle, laughing and cheering.
The train arrived and we headed back to the landing. The top of the train was covered by the migrant pickers,
riding for free. I boarded and headed home. There was beer on the train.
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