Tuesday, April 5, 2011

Symptomatic 6

I slept through the long bus ride north, having thought to map out my plan of action along the way, but quickly becoming overwhelmed by heat and exhaustion, then finding a comfortable reclining seat on the air-cooled bus, I gave in to sleep, which provided a pleasant dream of slow freefalling. In the morning, I was surprised to find Tuxtla much like Tapachula in tone and ambiance, having expected to find some dusty little pueblo because of my inexperience leading me to believe Mexico only had modern amenities in its resorts along the shorelines. I ate breakfast at a MacDonald’s, and after scoping out the place discovered there were plenty of little English schools where I might apply for a job with a promise to supply proper papers as soon as I could have them sent to me. I figured by the time I would actually have to deliver my documentation, I would be in a position financially to move on, and if I worked the situation out befittingly, I could be in Mexico City in about three months. Everything changed one afternoon three weeks on while I was relaxing at Starbucks enjoying a latte after successfully talking my way through a session with a group of teenagers eager to learn some American slang, when a familiar looking young woman passed by, and looking at me quizzically for a moment, said, “Don’t I know you from somewhere?” Preposterously, I offered, “Why don’t you have a seat, and we can see if that is true?”

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