MH got home late in the afternoon on Tuesday, turned the ignition key to “Ign” and sat for a moment, wondering about the future and listening to the end of the song playing on the radio.
DM met him just inside the door, brought him up to the moment on the days events on the home front. He talked about work then settled in, checked his e-mail.
“Anything happening on the Internet?” He asked. He was IMing on-line with a friend.
“Just some small talk and a couple good posts on Club Hombre, “stuff about the AB and CC” He said, typing. “You remember that this weekend is the Club Hombre Convention?”
“Let’s do something.”
They left early on Friday, cleared the border to Mexico at Tijuana and drove down the toll road toward Ensenada. The road wound atop tall cliffs that fell directly to the sea. The late afternoon sun was bright, the sky clear and blue. Waves smashed at the bases of the cliffs and spume feathered the volcanic rocks there. Far below their elevation they watched seabirds working the airwaves and an occasional panga, netting or hooking fish for their future. Along the highway they were cautioned by signs warning of earthquake slippages in the roadway and wondered for the 9th time how long it would be before they’d drive into nothingness, off a road that had fallen hundreds of feet into the ocean below.
They passed through the city, past the port, the pier, along the waterfront. Horse-drawn carriages trotted tourists through town in fading twilight. They passed small homespun taco stands, more formal cafes and restaurants, the family-operated markets and shops, major hotels, tourists everywhere. He braked for a sorry hooker, teats well-suckled and sagging, ribs protruding, giving life by giving of herself.
“Ah, Spring.” He said. They laughed empathetically and continued. MH reached for DM’s hand in the seat beside him, shifting with his left across the console.
Lights emerged, twinkling as night wound shadowy tentacles through town. They continued, remembering and sharing the many memories they’d built together of this city, town back then, before the California side of the border had swelled and when they had lived to the south and been warmed there; when the boys were young and freshness had flowed through the relationship, a bubbling brook refreshing and rejuvenating everything in its path. They left their country-western station from the north and inherited Mexican romance radio with a sobbing, throbbing… um…beat …TO BE CONTINUED

Huge,

What the hell is this?

UMMMM
looks like a report ?
I am not the smartest guy on the board but I think we can rule out it's a picture of Hombre.
Also we can rule out that it's Lamalvida's homework and that it is not a blueprint for a new computer system.
So i guess it is a report

Milky

Hard to say. I quit reading when they started holding hands...

I know you TJ guys are close, but DAMN!

HUH? An old gay guy (and his lover) posting about reflections of life in Mexico from the homo perspective?