Crossing the Border
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Traveling along the Mexican border between Texas, New-Mexico, and Arizona offers a physical sense of how large the land is between the two countries . That is not even mentioning California.
Being stopped on the road by an immigration officer, I could not help myself thinking of how futile it is when everywhere else there is just nothing but desert.
So much so that when you walk slightly outside the interstate in the desert, you run into personal effects left by people who have illegally crossed the border for a piece of the American Dream. Tracks of desperate lives are numerous: a fire pit here, rusted Coca Cola cans there, and some pairs of tired boots.
So some people are entering bare feet in the USA territory, with the sweet and sour taste of freedom, and loss.
Tonight , close to the highway was standing a dingy restaurant. Inside , two clients where playing poker in an large empty room.
For Jon, this place is a little bit like home. After two marriages , and two divorces he leaves alone. Born in Tennessee, his father left when he was a seven years old boy. I grew up fast. I was the man of the family very early on. I had no childhood. At eleven I discover that I had a good sense of beat and was a good dancer. I became a ballroom instructor at 14 years old. I went to England too.
I really liked that.
Then my life changed. I was in Vietnam three times for a year. Coming back and being spitted at was not easy. I have emotions, you know. Even If I try to not think of it, and bury it, it s there… in my heart. I treasure my life, you know. The American Dream? When was that? That’s BS! It was lost a long time ago. I live for my dreams, not for the American one. I used to write songs. I am good at it. Jon went out to get me an old vinyl that he recorded in 1972. That was his dream then. Now at 72 ,he remodels houses. I still treasure my life, you know.
Have a good one!
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