Book — Confessions of a Tour Guide: Chapter 15 — Mad Dog Mateo And Crazy South Africans

If you enjoyed this, please support me at:

Chapter 15. Mad Dog Mateo And Crazy South Africans


I have a tour the day after tomorrow. A British film crew is coming over to shoot a documentary that follows a commercial pilot. Five guys total, the pilot, the director, two cameras, and the sound guy. It should be interesting.


I have some work tomorrow. Shooting a new rugby team in San Diego. It’s supposed to rain. It should be interesting.


Interesting. That’s what my life aspires to be. I should travel more instead of just receiving travelers here. Spend 6 months in a different city for the rest of my life. Writing 1,000 words or more a day in my experience in that place. 


Professional traveler. The dream job.


I’m stuck in Tijuana for now.


I can’t afford to travel now. Can’t afford much. Saving up to get a car. I haven’t owned a car since I moved to Tijuana. Now I need one.




A lot of interesting tours have happened.


One of the stories that I tell a lot is one that I barely recall.


Bachelor parties sort of mixed into one gigantic story. 


Then there are other special events that are not bachelor parties.


That one boring tour I had with a beautiful Australian couple. They were vegan and they arrived in Tijuana before noon. That tour was forgettable. The couple was gorgeous (both models), but no personality. That tour was one of the tamest most boring tours.


I had different Aussies as well. Three friends that were friends of the wife of a great friend of mine. Yep. Friends of friends of friends.


The three of them were on the chubbier side. One was ginger with long hair and beard, the other had salt and pepper hair and was a comedian who Playboy retweeted often, and the other was a chubby bald DJ.


All of them were hilarious.


I stayed with them for a couple days. The first night in Hong Kong, the comedian and the DJ started fighting. Ginger ignored them and suddenly he had a beautiful girl on his lap. The girl told him he loved gingers. The guy didn’t believe her but did buy her a couple of drinks that night. Nothing happened.


Next night, a similar story. Went out for food, tacos, drinks, and more. And ended up again in Hong Kong. Comedian and DJ started arguing again, and suddenly the Ginger disappeared with the same girl he chatted the previous night. 


We didn’t even notice.


Apparently, the girl recognized him from afar and they disappeared together.


That feels like it was many years ago. The guys loved Kokopelli tacos. They wanted to open a franchise in Melbourne because they swore it would be a total hit.


They promised to come back.


They haven’t.


I haven’t seen my friend or his wife in a couple years. I’ve been planning to visit them. It’s only LA. But I am stuck in Tijuana.




The story I tell a lot it’s the one with the South Africans.


South Africans have broken the record of alcohol and food consumed in two days.


I forgot how they contacted me, but I remember when we met.


They booked Hotel Ticuan for the night. I met them in the lobby. Two best friends in their mid-40s. Both plenty rich, one fucker had a house and business in Malta. Both had their own businesses in South Africa. Both married with children. 


And every year, they take two weeks and party the fuck out in Vegas. They just spend thousands of dollars partying. Just the two of them. Their two weeks of fuck everything, we are just going to do whatever the fuck we want.


That year, they found me and Tijuana.


They loved that I knew who Die Antwoord. And that I obviously knew District 9. I fucking love that movie.


I lived in LA when they install them fake benches announcing District 9. They didn’t look like movie posters. Just said that aliens aren’t allowed to sit on the bus benches, humans only. They were awesome. 


We got beers in the lobby’s bar. Three each to be exact. In less than 20 minutes. Before 4 pm.


We got the check. $9 dollars in total.


They thought it was $9 per beer.


Nope. I informed them that beers are a dollar each in Ticuan. The hotel is owned by the same owners that have multiple bars and hotels. Beers are less than a dollar at most of their establishments.


South Africans started laughing. They couldn’t believe such a nice hotel would be selling beers for a fucking dollar.


They dropped a $20 and we left the hotel.


Tour was typical. Food. Craft beers. Drinks. And then strip clubs.


Before going to the best strip clubs, they requested a shitty one. Just as a warm-up.

And I knew exactly where.


El Zorro Bar. “Well… cum… to Tijuana! Exxxotic girls!!!”


That’s what the cheap sign on the front of that shit bar reads. It’s next to one of my all-time favorite bars here. Nelson Bar. You’ll find me there constantly. Or maybe not by the time you read this. Probably not. 


Who the fuck is reading this?


Maybe once I’m dead.


We went to Nelson before going to El Zorro.


And here is something I found out about myself. Don Julio tequila makes me black the fuck out.


That’s why I say I don’t really remember what happened… Just little flashes… of debauchery.


We took two shots of Don Julio each. Again, guys were rich, so they were just throwing money with no regard. They were used to Vegas. Tijuana was nothing.


I woke up the next morning to find my wallet, my phone, and a crisp $100 bill on my desk. The very same desk I’m typing this crap right now. I barely had a memory of what happened the previous night.


I seriously checked my butthole.


Why would I have an extra $100? 


Nope. Butthole was safe.


Checked my Uber history. Saw that I got an Uber before FUCKING midnight from Hotel Ticuan to my house. 


I didn’t even fucking lasted till midnight.


I called the guys asking them if they were alright and confessing I had no idea what happened the previous night…


I was so fucking hungover and confused.


They told me not to worry, that I was a great host.


I told them I was going to cure my hangover at Telefonica Gastro Park, the trendy food truck location that opened in Tijuana in 2015 and has grown since. Featured in the New York Times and shit. 


That place.


Before it was huge. But still pretty popular.


Especially for a Saturday at around noon.

They met me there.


And yes. I’m listening to Die Antwoord while I’m writing this crap.



Mad Dog Mateo!


That’s the nickname they gave me.


Mad fucking Dog Mateo.


Pachangas Matt and Mad Dog Mateo.


Those days are behind me… I think.


Saturday morning. Well… morning for hungover people. Brunch time.


South Africans order food from a lot of food trucks. And then we hit the bar. Too early for craft beer. So we got caguamones.




Shots of fucking mezcal.


We stayed there eating and drinking for three hours. Wasted before 3 pm. 


Those guys could fucking drink.


We were being obnoxious and they were telling me all that we did the previous night… at a family-friendly place.


All three at some point had two girls on top of us. I can’t even imagine how much money we spent. 


It was way before 3 pm and I saw them spend around $200 on drinks and food….


The waitress would bring us shots of mezcal, they would pound it, and ask for the next round before the waitress was even done serving them. We finished a bottle and a half from that bar that day. 


Drunk and obnoxious telling stories of prostitutes, strippers, and debauchery surrounded by families. At least it was all in some weird English that I’m hoping not that many people could understand. But we were still fucking loud and drunk very fucking early. 


By 5pm, one of the guys requested cocaine. So here I go to call my guy. Obviously, he took hours to get to me. But there. $50 worth of cocaine. That’s shit tons of cocaine.


Oh fuck. I haven’t even explained how I met my coke dealer.


It was at a poker game with my weed dealer. 


I was winning. He provided coke. He got irritated when I was clearing the table. The bets weren’t much money. So I let him win a couple times. Then he became my contact for cocaine. And he has the best cocaine I ever had.


Disclaimer… haven’t seen this dude in years.


The Korean tacos were still around back then. We had some of that shit. 


And then… they wanted to go back to El Zorro.


We virtually repeated the previous night.


I told them that Don Julio was probably the reason I blacked out.


So we had Don Julio shots again. 


I became friends with the manager of that shit strip club that night. He told me that he has never seen that much money spent in his shitty club. And that they keep bringing me girls or drinks and I kept just saying no with my hand. One older woman stayed on my lap for the most time. 


The South Africans were doing drugs, whores, and drinking like crazy.


Keep in mind this shitty strip club only has five or six girls working at the time. The place is a shithole. The private rooms are little improvised cubicles. The wall where the shitty tiny stage is located has broken mirrors in a horrible fashion. Like they tried to do something creative but executed horribly. 


It’s a shit strip club. But it’s also anarchy.


The beers are cheap for a place with naked women.


The women are cheap. And you can see the battle-scars. And one of them is obviously a transsexual.


But that’s what they loved.


They loved how nitty-gritty it fucking was.


They also loved Hong Kong and Adelitas. But they said it didn’t feel real. And they were too big. Too many girls.


At shitty El Zorro, it was as if they owned the place. And for the hours that we were there, we basically did own the place. That place can’t be worth much. 


Those two nights those fuckers probably spend over a thousand dollars each.


Definitely more.


And I got paid $300 for two nights of partying with crazy South Africans.


I blacked out both nights.


Now when I walked by El Zorro, the manager likes to tease me with what happened that night.


I am pretty sure I recognize the older prostitute that I had in my lap most of the time. I am pretty sure she doesn’t recognize or remember me. I still see her from time to time on my way to Nelson.

Can you imagine the stories that a 40-year-old prostitute can tell? 


I don’t really want to know.


I live too close to all the debauchery.


And I’m obviously desensitized to all that shit. 


Like most of the people that come on a tour with me, they promised to come back. They said they had forgotten about Vegas after experiencing Tijuana.


I haven’t heard back from them since those two crazy wild nights.


I wouldn’t mind going full Mad Dog Mateo again. As long as I’m getting paid for it…

If you enjoyed this, please support me at:

Book — Confessions of a Tour Guide: Chapter 7.5 — Hong Kong with Psycho.

If you enjoyed this, please support me at:

Chapter 7.5 – Hong Kong with Psycho.

I did errands and some work and got distracted on purpose because I didn’t want to write what I’m going to write.


It’s not even that bad. This was years ago. I was 26-year-old and was YOLOing harder than ever.


We entered Hong Kong drunk and high at around 2 a.m. on a Tuesday. The place was not as lively as it usually is. Still a lot of naked women everywhere, but not the insanity of weekends in the sex emporium.


Before we even found a place to seat, psycho chick was saying hello to some women excitedly. She knew a lot of the dancers but didn’t know they worked there or never seen them work. She ordered a bucket of beer and gave me a $20.


Then she said, “wait, I’ll be back.” 


The bucket of beer arrived and she was nowhere. There goes not only the $20 she gave me, but the only $20 I had that was supposed to last me more than a few days.


First beer out of ten and I’m sitting in Hong Kong by myself with no money. Trying not to look at all the naked women around me because as soon as you give them eye contact, they’ll approach you.


There’s nowhere to look.


Stimulation overload.


I’m so over it.


For now.


Second beer. I’m drunk as fuck. I don’t want to drink anymore. But there’s a bucket of beer that I pseudo-paid for so I’m going to drink as much as I can.

Fuck. Third beer. This is boring now.


And there she is! She came back. The psycho chick.


With $400 in her hands.


She handed $200 to a waiter and told him to break it for $20s and singles.


She then handed me a fistful of singles and said: “I want you to spend it on my friends.”



My luck turned around. Psycho chick just handed me a bunch of money. She was telling her friends to come over and be with me while at the same time she was with me… It was… magical? 

But wait. There’s more!

Much more…

Sorry, mom.

It took us less than an hour to spend the couple hundred. I kissed and touched many naked women while kissing the psycho chick at the same time. And they did the same to me.


The waiters were treating us like royalty as psycho told him to break another $100 and bring another bucket of beer.


The waiters had no idea psycho chick was also a stripper but just from Adelita’s and not Hong Kong. She was dressed in regular clothes. Tight jeans, tennis shoes, a regular shirt, and little makeup.


She gave me a fistful of singles again. Beer was ignored at this point but was still there.


And then she decided she wanted to dance on stage.


Waiters didn’t care. The other girls encouraged it. 


She got up and started stripping for me and for the general audience.


I helped her strip. I started throwing money that she gave me on stage. Took off her jeans and left her with just her panties and put more money as she danced… for like another second. 


Then she helped me strip…


Then I was on stage.

So there.


Secret out. I had sex with a psycho hooker in public for a moment. 


Again, Hong Kong wasn’t very lively, so it was just some waiters, other hookers, and dozen other customers that were entertained by their own naked girls on their laps.



We didn’t finish, but I was naked on stage (boxers only) with her totally naked and two other naked girls there. I think I had a moment of consciousness when I was like “dude, you can’t keep going.” I’m pretty sure we were taking it too far, but at some point, I was on the side of the stage putting my clothes back on.


Her, the same.


The other two girls that were on stage came to us and gave her back some of the money. 


And she still had plenty of money.


After what happened, waiters kept treating us like royalty.


They started ushering us into the VIP room where they told us we could keep it going with more girls.


We laughed at each other and said no thanks.


Then they ushered us into some private fancy rooms with a jacuzzi shower with glass windows and four-poster bed with translucent curtains and soft clean sheets. It pretty much looked like a set of a porno. And porno was playing on TV.


Again, we said no thanks. 


They tried ushering us to another place that was basically the same, with more promises of girls, champagne, and other VIP treatment.


I think they thought I had the money and not her. Because I kept looking at her like “what’s your choice.”


She again said no thanks and that we wanted to go back to the main area.


There we sat with her friends again trying to finish the rest of the bucket of beer.

We didn’t finish the beer when she said it was time for tacos.


She handed me the rest of her change. $50 some dollars. I put them in my right pocket of my favorite green hoodie.


I lost that green hoodie. I miss that green hoodie. That fucking hoodie was perfect.


We stumbled down the street for tacos. It was near dawn time. We were beyond wasted. Her, more than me. I had time to sober up after the actions occurred. 


She got three adobada tacos with everything. At the time, I was a “vegetarian” so I ordered nothing.


Also at the time “I would never be with a prostitute.” Too late to go back on that one. 


I still never have paid any money for it. And I don’t think I ever will. So hooray my morals!?


She was so drunk that she was eating the paper that came with the taco. I helped her fold that paper back so she wouldn’t eat it. Nah. She kept munching on that taco drunkenly eaten the paper and all.


I was hungry, so I grabbed a piece of the meat ever so carefully picking a not so greasy piece that didn’t touch the guacamole that was piled on top (I hate that green booger shit). 


Vegetarianism over.


Give me a taco without that green booger shit.


Almost ate it with paper and all.


I took money out of the right pocket of my beloved green fucking hoodie that I miss so much. Paid the taquero. And down the road, we go to her place.


Her place?

Oh yeah!


There’s more!


I said there’s more!


Her place was Hotel Velario, a hotel near all the prostitutes. And guess what happens in that hotel?!


It’s a really nice standard hotel. She had a room on the bottom floor. The building is weird, is sort of a labyrinth and it goes down a few floors instead of up. 


The room was also pretty standard, except she had all her shit there.


I remember I saw her official ID on the night desk. Shit. I learned her real name and her age. She was 21. I thought she was older than me at the time.


She opened her closet and tried opening her safe to show off her money. She was too drunk to open it. She left her purse and money on top of it. 


Then we had sex for hours.


For way too many hours.


I was tired. I wanted to sleep.


She wouldn’t let me. She wanted more and more and more.

She went to other rooms to show me off.


Other girls that worked with her basically also live in the hotel. The girls would come into her hotel room and play with me. 




I was so embarrassed. But at the same time YOLOing. She just kept telling girls “you gotta see this guy’s cock. It’s perfect.”


So more girls kept coming to check it out.


I just wanted to fucking sleep. She wanted more sex and got obsessed with not being able to open her safe.


At some point, she called the front desk to tell them she couldn’t open her safe. Security came into the room to help her. Security dude seemed to be friendly with psycho. They couldn’t reset the fucking password so they welded that shit down and told her they were going to bring her a new safe.


She had over 20k in cash on the safe…


At some point I did sleep. Because I woke up and suddenly there were several fruit juices JUMEX on the room’s table as well as shitty Mexican pastries. At some point, she went to the store and bought breakfast. 


I had no idea what time it was.


I slept some more after breakfast. But she kept touching me trying to get my tired penis to do something. I told her I needed sleep. At least a couple hours.



I woke up no idea at what time. She was asleep but felt me waking up.


And started touching me right away.


After what seemed the 7th time I had sex in one day, I left her hotel room.

This circles back to Chapter 1


This is when I stumbled out of Zona Norte after the craziest fucking night of my life. I reached for my pocket to call my friend Brown. “Dude, you won’t know what just happened.” Those were my first words.


Tijuana happened.

When I was talking to him giving him a rough summary and telling him to meet me for beers soon, I reached inside my right pocket on my fucking beautiful green hoodie.


$37 dollars.


I told him I’ll call him later.


Turned around and headed back to the hotel.


Shit. I didn’t know what room she is in. Her first name was very common and I forgot her real last name. I couldn’t just ask for “psycho chick.”


I turned back around and went back to my place. 


I messaged her later that day to let her know that I took some money from her by accident and thanked her for the wild night. She told me not to worry about it and to buy her beer one of these days.

And wait.


There’s more.

A month later she texted me that she was pregnant….

If you enjoyed this, please support me at:


Book — Confessions of a Tour Guide: Chapter 3 — Shaun and Mike

If you enjoyed this, please support me at:

Chapter 3. Shaun and Mike.


Disclaimer. Those aren’t their real names. I don’t remember their real names. I don’t really remember how I met them. They were friends of friends of my brother’s friends… Something like that.

Let’s just call them Shaun and Mike. They looked like a Shaun and a Mike. Two white dudes. Both certified pilots out of work. One lived in Hawaii, the other in San Francisco or somewhere in the area. Because of pilot bullshit, they weren’t allowed to smoke weed. So they were smoking K-2 incense crap.

Mike was a short guy typical surfer dude who looked mega stoned all the time and said funny shit, sort of like like Adam DeVine from Workaholics. Shaun was taller and a bit more serious, very more pilot looking than Mike, somewhat like Michael Fassbender. 



This was early 2010. I didn’t live in Tijuana. I lived in LA. This was one of my first experiences in Tijuana with two strangers and me acting as a guide though I didn’t know the city at all. Crazy shit happened.

Shaun and Mike took me surfing for the first time in my life. We went somewhere south of Rosarito to a completely empty beach where we paid $5 to park, used their restrooms, and basically enjoy the beach. 


We smoked tons of that K-2 bullshit.


It would have been way dumb to go. But nothing happened. I didn’t catch one single wave while Mike caught several and Shaun did his best (didn’t do that good either). 


It was a great experience. I fucking loved it. 

Fast forward a bit. I started surfing every day that year in Los Angeles.


Fast forward to now. I haven’t surfed in years and a lesbian stole my surfboard (and my skateboard, my wetsuit, and my favorite scarf).

Rewind again.

After surfing, we returned to my brother’s house. He was living by himself in the same house he lives now, except it was a very run-down house back then. My brother was practically new to Tijuana as well. The place barely had any furniture and the carpet was old and dirty. 


Again, not sure who these guys were or how they related to my brother, but they were staying there. Friends of friends of friends passing out on unknown floors.

I lived in a fantasy apartment complex in Los Angeles in a place called Mariners Village (south of Venice in Marina del Rey). The place had small streams and ponds, Koi fish and turtles right under my balcony, four pools, four tennis courts, two hot tubs, a gym, a Starbucks, library, common areas, and much more. 

The complex was fantastic, but I shared a three-bedroom with two roommates (who were cool, but the apartment itself wasn’t huge). It was over 3k, so split into three we were paying just over 1k to live in that crazy complex. It was worth it. I’m pretty sure they are more expensive now.

So naturally, my brother didn’t mind switching apartments with me. That was one of those times. My brother and his girlfriend (now wife) went to stay at my apartment. I stayed with Shaun and Mike in Tijuana.


Back then, Tijuana was trying to implement the rule that all bars close at 2:00 a.m.


It was weird and it only lasted a couple of months. But for those couple of months, they were adamant at everything closing exactly at 2:00 a.m.


I’m sure there were many after parties and whatnot. But I was new in the city and I didn’t know anyone.

I don’t remember how the night started. Probably with something basic in Calle Sexta. Both Shaun and Mike wanted to hit on Mexican girls, but their attempts were not very good. I have a small memory of Shaun getting rejected in La Estrella that pops into mind. But that’s not what is important in this story.


All I remember was that I was excited to go to Zona Norte and guide them with my little knowledge of the place.


Back to Hong Kong. To the wonder emporium sex palace of depravity. 


Nervous as fuck. Even nowadays that I’m used to the area. I get nervous as fuck when stepping in the timeless wormhole.


As soon as we walked in, Mike disappeared. Like an expert in brothels, he went around doing his thing. I stayed back with Shaun and hung out buying girls drinks having fun here and there.

After a couple of beers, Mike returned. He had already been with a girl and wanted to go get another. Shaun said it was his turn and for Mike to have a beer with me.


Shaun took the girl he was with up to the hotel.


Mike stayed for almost no time before he was up again wandering the brothel for another girl.


I was by myself.

Not only was I by myself… I suddenly had horrible diarrhea.


And I also felt responsible for the guys. 


Fuckers don’t speak any Spanish, but I guess they were adults responsible for their shit.


I stayed waiting for them. Got another beer. An older woman kept looking at me.


She grabbed my ass when I walked in front of her.


“Vamos güerito, buy her a drink already,” said her friend.


Fuck it. Might as well.


Her super stupid fake name was Kristofera. She had been working there for a couple of years. She was much older than me and had an insanely fake body. Fake nose. Fake tits. Fake ass. As fake as it could be. The opposite of what I’m usually attracted, but she was completely naked wearing only fishnets.   


She told me stories about the place while trying to convince me to go up to the hotel with her. I’m proud to say my will is still strong when it comes to this shit. I still refuse. Paying for sex is weird.


But I still asked how much.




HAH! No. I’ll buy you another drink instead.


Another beer.






I refuse again.


“$20, just because I like you,” she says. “Plus the cost of the hotel.”


My stomach was churning.


I was in pain.


Mike and Shaun were nowhere to be found. 


I confessed.


I wanted to go up to the hotel. Not for the reasons she thought. But because I wanted a private bathroom for myself. It was that bad.


And yes, they have nice bathrooms in Hong Kong, but this was bad. And I’m stupid when it comes to taking a shit in public restrooms. I prefer the comfort of my own.


I asked Kristofera what way to the hotel. She guided me and left her before she put on her bathrobe. Told her to wait for me.


I paid $12 for 30 minutes in a sex hotel just to take a comfortable shit.


The hotel was under construction so it was a weird walk to the room and I could hear fucking in all the rooms.


There was porn on TV as soon as I walked in.


Ran to the bathroom. Did my things. Took a long warm shower. Cooled my head down. 


And headed back out. To search for Mike and Shaun.


I didn’t find them.


I found Kristofera again.


She made fun of my situation. Called me strange several times.


We got along. She tried to help me look for Mike and Shaun.


So I bought her more drinks (and gave her a $20 tip). 


2:00 a.m. hit. 


Everyone was getting kicked out of the bars. I said bye and thanks to Kristofera. 


And I ended up adding her on Facebook. I still have her to this day. 


Her name is not Kristofera. It’s something very common. And yes. She is old with a very fake body. The lights at Hong Kong and booze does wonders to the imagination.


She’s still cool. Last time I talked to her she was still working in the area. I saw her a couple times after… Always bought her a drink and talked to her a bit. She stopped trying to get me to the rooms after that one time. 

The streets were a mess. Crazy amounts of people just wandering Tijuana past 2:00 a.m. searching for anything that is open, but nothing is except 24 hour farmacias


Shaun and Mike were nowhere to be found. I walked around for several minutes looking for them.


I was tired. I was ready to give up and go home. They can figure out what to do. They are adults. They can stay at a hotel.


And then… I fucking finally found them. Both of them together. 


Yep. They did their thing. They got kicked out 2:00 a.m. as well. They miraculously found each other and then found me.


The night didn’t end there.


Everything was closed, and Mike still insisted that he wanted to get with a Mexican chick. Not with a prostitute, but a real one. But still offering money. Makes no sense to me, but fuck it.


He ended up chatting with two short stocky girls that weren’t very pretty… but really common Mexican ladies. Somehow he convinced them to have sex with him and Shaun for $50 each. 


Nothing was opened. These were just girls. We walked all the way back to my brother’s place.


On the long walk there, the girls complained about how much we were walking. And we did. We walked shit-tons, nearing 3:00 a.m. Two crazy fucking white Gringos smoking K-2, two random girls, and …. Me. Looking back, a taxi would have been an easy choice.


Shit felt weird. Not sure how or why I agreed to this.


I talked to the girls. They worked at a strip club called El Columpio. They were hookers… both 21-years-old. One had three kids, the other had none. They were best friends and did everything together. They explained more of what happens in Zona Norte.


I told Mike that he was unsuccessful in getting real girls to get with him. He didn’t believe me. He was convinced that they weren’t prostitutes.


At my brother’s place… they did their thing in the dirty old carpet in the living room with no furniture.


I went to bed. Or tried too. I heard the girls getting a taxi 20 minutes later. 



Next morning, we had tacos for breakfast and they went back across the border. I never saw either of them ever again. I never smoked K-2 ever again.


The girls…


Eight years later… I still see both girls together on occasion. Usually on Sundays at Bar Chips. But sometimes randomly. I’m not sure if they are the same girls, but they look exactly like my memory of them. And they seem to look at me like they recognize me but they are not sure who I am. And I look at them thinking they were those two random girls that Mike picked up.


I never really told that story before. Not to this extent. I didn’t imagine I would end up living in Tijuana. I didn’t imagine my brother would get married and still live in the same house…

The dirty old carpet is gone. The house looks nothing like it used too. 

And now years later… Sorry bro. I truly am.