He Stole My Bicycle, He's A Family Man.

Trip Start Mar 20, 2010
Trip End Sep 14, 2010

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Where I stayed
friend's house

Flag of Mexico  , Central Mexico and Gulf Coast,
Monday, August 23, 2010

I cannot count how many hours I've spent cleaning up my respective dog's diahrrea, regular shit, and piss - never mind this is all happening in my friend's house. Brody now thinks he can pee where he wants, when he wants because of Chavo. I admit, just looking at those two together makes me not want to give Chavo away. It's comforting to me to know Brody has a constant playmate and it's great for him to never really be alone if I have to leave him for a couple hours or even a couple weeks. I've got two potential homes lined up for Chavo, but, man, it's gonna be hard to say goodbye even though his presence has caused a lot of shit, pun intended. 

This weekend I partied like I haven't partied since I was 13. It was great. Though, when I got back to my friend's place at where I'm staying at 8am, I was locked out because by force of habit, he chain locked his door on top of the regular lock, so I had to sleep in my jeep which was actually not bad as I have my blankets and bed stuff in there. However, I was awoken 20 minutes after I had finally found a decently comfortable position by a friend knocking on my car window laughing his ass off. I guess it was a sight to see. "You are incredible", he said as I struggled to roll down my window still half drunk and tired as hell. Then we went together to the park to support the event to fight for the rights of dogs in my district - people have been planting poison meatballs for dogs without leashes to find and eat and die. This, because animal-hating residents of the park and surrounding areas are fed up with people not picking up their dog's shit. Humans, I am eternally in awe of you. To this day, none of this lethal food has been found, so they were just putting up a big front. But if I ever came across somebody someday that I knew was in favour of this dog-genocide, a part of me would like to say I'd kick the shit out of them when really, I know I'd ask them to sit down a talk to me about why they feel the way they feel and try to convince them otherwise and if that wasn't an option, I'd do just what they want - pick up all the shit in Condesa and take the liberty of chucking it at them. 

Still have no place to live. Searching, searching. 

I met the most interesting person of my whole 'trip' the day before yesterday. I was at a starbucks and this man, Albert, was excavating the outdoor tables to promote his english classes business. So when he told me what he was selling with an outstretched arm of business cards, I instantly retorted in spanish by saying I speak english. I invited him to sit with me after a minute or two of chatting as he stood there with a large chain wrapped around his shoulders and terminal drool cascading from his mouth onto my laptop. He stayed with me for about an hour, talking about our lives in short and his 60 year-old life of paying 20-something year old men to sleep with him, court them, make them sandwiches, or just for them to undress so he can look at them. It was quite fascinating for the fact that he is incredibly nonchalant about it. He's from Texas. I asked him if I could photograph him - I would love to have him and all of his suit-ees sitting on a bed with them all holding him. What I got from the whole thing, is that they are dependant on him and some of them get emotionally attached because of the money and how he 'takes care of them'. We exchanged numbers and as he began to walk away with his bicycle, he said, "I'll make you sandwiches." I'm sure some people reading this might freak out about me conversing with a man of his breed, but the truth is, that I meet and engage in conversation with 'fucked up' people all the time and talk to them like I would anyone else. Otherwise, how can I know people truly, how the world works, if I don't open my mind and learn beyond my genre of life. I believe this is why I photograph. 
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