LOS DIABLOS ROJOS...
It is the late afternoon in Colonia Jardin Balbuena. I have opened the window of my bedroom and a cool breeze sweeps over me as I read Luis Spota's Casi Un Paraiso. I rose at six today and hit the weights. There are three things I hope to accomplish before I return to the border in August: I want to flatten my stomach, improve my Spanish and watch my new toe nails grow. I won't have to hide my feet in shame anymore although I do have to hide the rest of my life in shame. I have been reflecting on my 73 years on earth. There have been successes and there have been failures. As a result of a huge failure I am hunkered down in Mexico City waiting for the next earthquake or thug to open fire in a shootout with another gang. It's not that bad, but with the advancing years the paranoia no longer remains on the periphery but begins to stalk your every move. I have so many political enemies in Brownsville from my writings that two nights ago I couldn't sleep because I imag...