1. A drugged-out pandillero asked me to come inside his house, a sad affair next to the creek I was jogging across. I laughed his invite off, gesturing with my hands to my headphones as if to say "no time, doing my jogging" but i did not know if he really understood; I heard muffled sounds of laughter mixed with screams in doppler effect.
2. I saw hired boys, most whom were young and half-starved, in tattered rags, pushing dead people, freshly shot dead, over filthy mounds of dust and shit, making sure they slumped, like bloody, ratty garbage bags over the bluff and into the filthy river, full to the brim with expectant vultures, rats and stray dogs, mixed with the feces,guts, and mud, the brownish-green water promising nothing but decomposition and a stench so foul, no other animals came, save the scavengers, some which were also human, who lived under the bridge, drunk on maize alcohol and gasoline fumes.
A dead, very bloated, half-naked man was being poked by a stick by a half-naked boy, laughing and picking his filth covered nose with his blackened fingers. They never knew the police to come around and organize crime scenes inside these slums. They were too busy doing otherwise. The weak current splashed on the fat man's body, trying, but unable to, move him anywhere. The vultures would soon peck his soft flesh and penetrate his soft cavities.
3. A woman, with eyes of a scared deer, stared into my eyes, for a brief moment, and I thought she was playing with her little boy, inside the garage. My tattoos were visible, though, and I soon recognized the metallic form of her (I think) 9mm pistol, which also froze in her hands, as if recognizing that it was too late for her to react. She was even more surprised I kept on walking, saying hello. It only dawned on me then that my tattoos could define me as a mortal enemy.
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