day 1.1 1.2 Day
It was something I had very comfortable ... But C said it would be good therapy for M and M was in no position to complain ... So I took all the things C M and sent him on a plane from London to Tijuana ...
Tijuana was not the best place And if the world for that matter, neither, Rosarito, but thought that M C would be good change of scenery. Would be in a huge city with people who did not know that he knew, would have no way of buying drugs and would be under the care of a real family, something that had never M has had so C-expected that M will do well to be surrounded by people who do not treat it to death all the time and was well looked after and protected. Even waiting to go home with at least one or two kilos.
To me, personally, the idea did not bother me, my mother was not too happy with having "a suicidal addict at home ", but explained it was my friend, and wanted, at least try to help as much as possible, there was little agreement, we knew that both C and I , but we wanted what little remained of it was settled, so why C had decided to send him to my house. What I liked is that it should go look at Tijuana.
hated to go to Tijuana and I loved the idea of not having to go when I had nothing to do there ... Would from time to time the days when you had to meet my friends, but the truth is that if I could stay away from Tijuana, I was ... Getting to Tijuana
did not have much science, I got on a taxi filled with strangers-sometimes-and you stink from potholes and other niceties of the road until you reach your destination. Unlike taxis elsewhere, here are group taxis ... I mean, you get into the taxi and go surrounded by strangers who do not know where the hell out, many of them are not very clean Many of them sit practically on top of you, many of them harass you look ... Many of them are scum of humanity living in a city in the rear of the devil ... The truth is I did not want to come to this horrible M site ...
After begging my father a thousand times to take me to the airport to pick up M, finally agreed, especially because I had no idea how to get there by taxi. So that hot summer Saturday, we went to Tijuana International Airport to pick up my guest.
After several hours of waiting, there it was, had a flight of nearly thirteen hours, and when I got off the plane sent a text message to tell me was there and demanding, because M does not ask, M-demand to go to the international gateway to wait, and one could not simply send him to hell and have to fend for himself, I waited ...
M is nearly six feet tall, if not exact-feet tall and has long black hair, probably the greatest feature of her face are her big gray eyes, which seem to say everything when it runs out of words, was more thin as a rake and he looked tired, he had only an overnight bag with a few things, clothes and simple. She hugged me, was all I could do, I presented to my father and left the airport.
When we left, the hot summer air hit him in the face of M as a slap.
"Heat of shit ..." He said, in English half British, half-Irish, playing with accents because I knew that this was causing a particular effect on the girls. For me personally I did not care.
"Welcome to hell time ..." was all I could tell, they burned his hand trying to open the back door of the car, got in and opened from the inside for him, seat was just as hot as the door, until the windows were open and the wind came off the road for them. Rosarito
offered a much cooler climate than that of Tijuana, perhaps by being more near the beach, the breeze came Masy not give us much heat, but in Tijuana, if you spent much time standing at a traffic light waiting to cross the street, you started to feel the heat go to the soles asphalt shoes, and from there directly to the soles of the feet ... Horrible and unbearable.
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