WHILE MY child bride was peddling pastries on the main plaza yesterday, I took a walk around with my camera.
The upstairs windows on the above building open from the bedroom where my brother-in-law, separated from my sister-in-law after she tossed him out for philandering, accidentally shot himself to death about eight years ago.*
The same windows were used about a year later in a Nescafé television commercial. You see a woman sipping coffee briefly in one of the windows at the 0.55-second mark.
Not included in the commercial was the fact that the very bed on which the body was found still sat in the bedroom.
All of the street scenes were shot here. It looks more like Italy than Mexico to me, but it’s not Italy.
Continuing my stroll, I went down thataway and shot the next photo. It’s an intersection we call Seven Corners.
The black-and-white photos are fairly realistic because we’ve had some unpleasantly cool and rainy days of late.
Things will return to idyllic very soon, I’m sure.
* Don’t ever think a .22-caliber pistol is just a toy, especially if you point it at your heart and pull the trigger.
You don’t often see that many light-skinned folk in that area. Must be visiting from SMA.
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Kris: Took me a minute to grasp that you’re referring to the folks in the Nescafé video. Advertising in Mexico almost always uses light-skinned folks because they’re considered better looking, more successful, smarter. Darker Mexicans get roles like the maid, chauffeur or gardener.
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A .22 caliber dagger can be equally dangerous. No point in dagger control.
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Carlos: There may be no point in dagger control, but daggers do have a point, a sharp one if it’s well-maintained.
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Touché
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Actually a .22 caliber is a very effective “killing” caliber. It’s small and doesn’t travel as fast. Tends to stay in, no exit.
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Ray: My former bro-in-law was not the brightest bulb in the pack. He just barely finished elementary school, and that was it. He undoubtedly thought it was a relatively mild bullet as bullets go and, more importantly, I doubt he knew he was pointing it right at his heart. But he was.
But he did us all a favor, bless his moronic heart, or what was left of it after it was punctured. He had been pure trouble.
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That first photograph reminds me of a pub in Lancashire. It must be the black and white effect.
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Señor Cotton: I don’t see that at all, but I’ve never been in Lancashire.
I have been in Cheshire, however, overnighting with an attractive anthropologist from California whom I met on a train going to Inverness, Scotland.
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I can see a short story brewing in that last sentence.
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Señor Cotton: Years ago. Last train to Holyhead.
https://goo.gl/xY3Idl
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