How to make a rapid exit.

Arh, life in Acapulco, its hot and bothered, all hustle and bustle, if its not cars exploding from over heating its the god damn Mexicans and their morning shreaks. Im kidding of course, theyre not damned by God, the magnificent cross bearing down on the city takes care of that surely, over powering the fact that I get asked if I want to go to a brothel every 40 to 50 seconds. Im not sure I look that desperate, perhaps its my transparent texture, it seems to bemuse and frighten everywhere I go. At the beach for instance I sent a small child running in terror, all he did was look at me, my bare Anglo-Celtic chest in all its glory, reflecting the sun with great strength. The poor child, Id imagine, had thought hed seen a ghost, a particularly muscular and striking one, but a ghost none the less. My Mexican friend Evan said to me in an entirely serious manner, it is like your skin, it battle with the sun, and the sun, it always lose, I began to laugh before he put his hand on my shoulder and continued, I do not joke. Theres little a man can do other than smile and not politely in those situations, as far as an Englishman is concerned at any length.

As Im on the subject of beaches, Ive never taken too kindly to them, I feel if I wanted miniature shards of glass stuffed into my pockets and into every other ungodly orifice Id smash a telephone booth up and get the job done properly. Recent events have added to my natural aversion, after a lengthy night at Paradise, now my local haunt, and some wrestling with some Mexicans,



My newly acquired friends and I decided to take a late stroll along the calming beach. All was well and we were at peace with the world, the sea leisurely strolled up the sand and we were all drunk enough not to have any hassle in the world. I had my snake skin cowboy boots on and was pleased at the fact they let no sand into my socks, I was happy, but then came the rush, the mescal tequila took hold of my brain, I remember someone earlier in the night shouting TAKE HOLD OF YOUR MIND, ITLL BE IN THE BAY SOON, and jesus it almost was. After taking a photo of this portly fellow



All I seem to recall is running along the beach, at some speed for a drunken man on sand, away from two or three screaming Mexicans, I could have sworn they were wearing huge sombreros with belts of bullets along their chests, but that could have just been the mescal twisting savagely at my mind. I made a quick escape luckily, into a beachside club, its hard trying to blend in though when youre as white as the driven snow surrounded by chocolate coloured Mexicans. I soon spotted an exit however and was on my way to the main street, a clean get away. I feel my cowboy boots gave me the edge on the sand over their flip flops or I would have surely been done for. The reason behind this chase though will have to sleep with the fishes, in this swollen bay of tourism and decadence, for I cannot remember and I will have to settle for that.

More of these tales will have to wait, Ive quite outstayed my welcome in the local starbucks, leeching their free internet on my wireless laptop. And of course, theres always more mescal to be drank.

Farewell, Los Angeles here I come.