Expatriation

It was no use.Same old shit. The trap was, just like last time all set to grab, to ruin things. He had fallen that one time and, when they found him all bets were off, forever, finito. But then, when the machinery, the budget-driven county awoke, he had absconded, could not no matter what, be found. Today, he sits on a tall stool in what they call the Gringo Bar, in hot and fucking dusty Nogales. Not one of them has pried the secret about the greenback stash from him. He loves his life within the family of people, compadres, down to earth. And wonders if the day will come when someone adds a bit too much of special sauce that kills the tongue, senor.