The Men on Mission

At Cancun- the delicious tacqueria we ate at for dinner… I loved speaking Spanish with the employees and loved how they seemed to appreciate (the guy taking my order called me “Corazon”). Matt and I picked Spanish songs from the Jukebox- only one that we actually knew (Oh Santana). I wanted to pick one from the “Sonidas de la Corazon” (sounds of the heart) record that pictured an almost-naked woman bending over, the poetic title reading left to right across her bare ass.
While the boys were still ordering- I started to take a seat at an empty table. All of a sudden, a juicy “SPLAT” came from right next to me as a drunk and homeless man hurled a burrito like a fastball right at the cooks. It squirted a little bit all over- and was so bizarre and not-really-threatening…. And the workers cleaned up and pardoned him in the name of Easter Sunday. About ten minutes later though, he came back in causing a scene and the owner had to half-Nelson him out of the restaurant.

From the San Francisco examiner: “Violence mars holiday weekend; 10 injured.” Bummer reality.

This hostel is chillax. Matt is still sleeping and I’m loving my free coffee with powdered creamer downstairs.

Quoteth the man on Mission street: "Is that an antenna park up there? I'm not really into antennas, I'm more into a father-sort of park. A father figure type."

The city is interesting. Sometimes sad and violent, but definitely ALIVE.