I TOOK HER HOME AND WENT BACK TO THE BEACH

I drove through an improvised Tijuana police checkpoint without incident, I was not pulled over, spoken to, or waved at, the pigs just looked at me stupid — faced. When I had driven about 5 kilometers, I saw flashing red lights behind me. Someone had decided to pull me over in the comfort of secrecy. I knew something was not right. I began to pull over, and the side of the road was full of debris, rocks, and garbage. It felt like I was stopping on a fracture shoulder. I just sat there, trying not to look at my rearview mirrors that reflected the pork’s high beams. But when the pig got off from his police truck I followed his movements with my door mirrors. I didn’t like the way he was holding his holstered gun. He walked slowly in a hesitant phase towards my driver side window. He looked at me, and I looked at him. I knew he was a pig in disguise, because he had fish eyes.
—How are you doing this morning? He asked the question with the demeanor of a sardine.
—I am doing fine and you?
He didn’t answer, but I liked the fact that he didn’t flash my eyes with his flashlight like most swine do when they stop motorists in the dark.
—You’re not doing fine? I asked.
—Let me see the registration of the vehicle.
I reached over the glove compartment, opened the plastic door and put my right hand inside, my fingers caressed some old memories, objects of remembrance, pictures of a better time, tokens of peace and love letters, fractured poems, and the memories than overtook me as I looked for a California piece or paper that was not there. Memories than played in the eye of my heart better than a Martin Scorsese film: I could see myself shooting at the crow with an AK—47, we didn’t have shotguns, so it seemed like the only sensible thing to do, I fired short bursts or rapid fire at it, I liked the way the bird would maneuver amongst the Russian made rounds. It finally dived down over the ridge, I never saw it again.
I looked at the Mexican cop.
—Is okay, you can go. He said with shaky voice.
—You don’t want the registration?
—Just go.
—Buenas noches. I said to him, even although it was in the early morning, it seemed like late at night to me. I drove away into the coming daylight.