Some creative writing from the Border....

The idiot stumbled down the part of the road with each eye focused on different objects. He played a child's accordion that spat out tri-tones and honks and gasps that made the accordion seem alive. He was nothing like the other beggars with amputated arms or legs or spirits. This man only had amputated reason. Whatever brain he had was not able convince himself of his own situation and was likewise unable to guide his feet down the road without looking like a giant fleshy kid's wind up toy. Some force other than his own, whether benign or indifferent, was able to guide him though the half-mile long snaking line of steadily idling v8's. His stupid and vague smile, looking away at something only he can see, is troubling. That incurable stupid smile. You're not supposed to be smiling.

The taxis fly around the corners and stake claim to a piece of curb. Despite the men inside, the cabs seem to be living, breathing beasts. Early 90's Crown Vic's that grandmothers in Louisville or Milwaukee probably used to drive. Now they housed throaty exhaust systems and lift kits and the men inside them. Now the took gringos to places at high price and take unsuspecting migrants to no place for a price not deserving of the treatment they received. Whether the men were extensions of the cars' souls or vice-versa, the purpose of the man-car monster is not so well hidden under the sheet metal once so popular to so many geriatrics in Florida. It stakes claim to a curb and waits for its prey.