Book — Confessions of a Tour Guide: Chapter 7 — The Tijuana Adventure.

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Chapter 7. The Tijuana Adventure.


Someone was yelling out my window this morning. It was someone I didn’t want to see. I pretended I wasn’t home. 

The morgue article got accepted. Now I am unsure of when it’s going to get published.


A cover story that I wrote came out today. It’s about a friend who self-deported to Tijuana. His story is yet to come. 


I wrote his story for the magazine almost 9-months ago. I got paid. I forgot about it. And then I found it was going to be a cover.


Awesome… I guess. It’s been so long since I sent it that I feel weird that it ended up being a cover.



I like the pictures I took for it. And I like the ones that they used. 


I grabbed several copies that now sit on my shelf with the other huge stack of magazines that I’m supposedly going to eventually clip to make some sort of scrapbook with all my stories.


Now on to the next one. An article about the battle for the water in Mexicali. Hopefully, it won’t take me long.

Let’s go back to that night that started it all. The one that I mentioned on page 2. Some morning in January in 2012.

My savings account was running low.


Like really low.


To the point, I was eating and drinking really cheap and counting every penny.


I wasn’t making any money.


I didn’t know what I was going to do to make money.


The tours weren’t a thing yet. It was just a concept. I didn’t have a web page or anything. My first post was a year later.




The timeline is all over the place.


It happens.

So what happened the previous night?


How did I end up in Zona Norte on a Tuesday morning with $37 in my hoodie’s right-pocket?

I remember that hoodie. It was one of my favorite hoodies. Green and brown. Thin enough that if it’s warm, it’s still a wearable hoodie, and if it’s chilly, it’s still the best hoodie.


I miss that hoodie. I’m not sure what happened to that hoodie.


That hoodie witnessed that night.



Besides going back to the second page, this goes back to chapter 4 as well. Remember that girl from Adelitas Bar? The naked ass hovering over my shoulder? 


Yeah. I added her on Facebook.

We never really talked.


I noticed immediately that it said she was in a relationship with someone.


That someone had a friend in common. I asked that friend in common and he said: “that someone is always dating hookers.”


… Interesting….


I got a message from her. The hooker in a relationship with someone who was friends with a friend of mine.


“I just broke up with my boyfriend, I’m alone with a cubeta in la Malquerida.” That was the message.


Words to explain. Cubeta = bucket. She had a bucket of beers with her. Usually 6, but sometimes 10 or 12.


Malquerida = the name of a strip club near Adelitas and Hong Kong.


It’s a good strip club though people have been shot in there. It’s nice and clean and the beers are cheap. It’s more for locals than tourists. It’s way more Mexican with a live band (which many times can be amazing).


Back then, La Malquerida was shittier. The second floor was in the process of being rebuilt. So it wasn’t as nice. And it was cheap as fuck.


“You should come to help me drink this beer.” 


I hesitated.


I was broke. And I told her. I don’t really have any money. 


I had $20 with me and some change.


That was it.


I messaged my friend Brown before heading her way. He said, “what the fuck are you waiting for you dumbfuck?!”

I got dressed and headed out the door on those cheap taxis de ruta and walked to La Malquerida.


I’m not sure what time it was when I got there but it was a couple hours before midnight.


I got to La Malquerida and she was already a little bit tipsy.


We drank and chatted and she complained about life and whatnot.


I don’t remember much except thinking like “holy shit, drinking for free with a hooker, this is awesome.”


She was very flirtatious with me. 


I just followed her to whatever she wanted.


And she wanted me to spend her money on strippers. So I did.


And drank more beers.

Then she took me to the upstairs where the private rooms are, except back then they were under construction, but still somewhat functional.




It was shittier. I told you.

We went into one of the private rooms and she lit up a joint. We smoked together while she gave me a private dance.


It didn’t escalate to anything except to just having fun.

We left the private room and finished the bucket of beers and walked outside.


As we stumbled outside La Malquerida, she mentioned she’s never been in Hong Kong.


I asked why not? And she didn’t have an answer, except “let’s go.”



I said this was going to be diaries of an old man. I should censor myself… And I have shit to do, stupid errands. I should reconsider typing what I was about to type.


Somehow. I’ve convinced a lot of women to sleep with me. 

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