Dear Darlin’,

I slept me a whole eleven hours last night, waking up with this here Mexican Man Flu. Joking aside I got the cold sweats just after we last spoke and the walk back made me feel like I was on fire.

About halfway back, just before the Universidad junction, by the side of the mini mall where the street stalls start to get pretty around the Metro exit, there’s this old guy. He holds a sheet of blank cardboard in front of him and just kind of shakes around standing up. There’s a polystyrene cup clawed in between the gnarled fingers of his right hand and it rattles like it’s full of peanut shells pretending to be coins of encouragement for more company. People ignore him. I poke my change at him.

I finally found the roof terrace tonight, it’s pretty much next door to my room but looks like a fire exit. The view doesn’t take well to photographs but you can see the suburbs as they rise into the hills and the downtown district far away. I just like looking down at the life in the streets, hearing the babbling Spanish as it rises up to meet me.

I can’t talk about the thing yet, but you know I had a good day. Did some stuff no one else on this planet can do and I’ve been invited back again because of it. If they take my report, prefaced with a letter to the president, as it needs to be taken, who knows where we’ll be in a few years.

Went to this little place in Coyoacan for lunch, a small corner joint set over two floors. Decorated with sunflowers. A three course lunch was less than five pounds but damn it was good. A lentil soup, a roll of pork in pea sauce and a chocolate cake, washed down with black coffee and a fruit juice which apparently no one knows how to translate. There was a chill air today, fat pennies of rain sometimes too, and I’ve been up and down with hot and cold the whole day, so open windows had me shivering at the table.

I showed Jon my initial findings and he can’t believe it, what’s been in the tip of their tongue. None of them can understand how I’ve done what I’ve done in three days, starting over. I can’t see why it’s special but I know now that no one else can do it and that makes me feel kind of good. He’s giving me a sugar skull as a gift.

I want you to know that I’m missing you. I know it’s only days but it feels like a lifetime because I lived one without, well, us. I want you to know something else too, about me and my broken bits. I think doing this, for as hard as it is now we found bliss, is fixing what was left to fix. I felt castaway for a long time and that devalues a man, this is like another piece of the journey home and maybe my bad days will get better, you know. I’m not just being accepted and praised here for what I once did, but for what I do now. That’s making a big difference. I’m a lucky man, the luckiest, because I done bagged me a venture capitalist who knew this before I did.

I love you.

Yours always,

#ThisBoy

One thought on “Letters From Mexico #3

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