First things first.



Sin City. The movie. Directed by Robert Rodriguez and Frank Miller. I mean, c'mon, look at this picture of Jessica Alba as Nancy! Hottt. This is one adaptation that'll be done right. (Click on the pic fer a larger view, eh?)

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A third person view of Mexican town written on July 30 whilst baking in the sun.

A languid fugue state set in easily as he sat silently smoking within the lush confines of the patio surrounded by chirping birds, a trickling fountain and the occasional buzzing of a fly made fat from fallen fruit on the roadway outside.

He was no stranger to foreign towns but was caught off-guard by the sheer ease and the unaffected manner with which both residents and ex-pats moved about their lives here. Gone was the hurried rush of the urban sprawl and gone too was the frenzied scrabble that usually accompanied an economically depressed culture. It was easy to see why someone would relocate here to become lost in the green hills and impossibly narrow cobblestone roads that in some perversion of logic always seemed to rise at ever steeper angles and rarely did so much to ease the calves as to momentarily level off.

Tourists ran rampant but instead of obscuring the sites or mangling the centuries old culture and traditions they instead tended to become marginalized almost to the point of being invisible. There were plenty of establishments willing to cater to these largely graying sightseers and their money was accepted to keep the fiscal forward motion of the residents but the usual loss of identity suffered when these transactions occur in other locales seemed unable to influence the ancient values soaked into this municipality’s psyche.



(This was the big spooky tree behind Photogal's building and I always thought it seemed to be throwing its arms up in the air in some silent and anguished question relating to "the meaning of it all.")