In 1965 I was nineteen and living in a rundown little dive in Chico, CA with my best friend, Crazy Louie. We dumpster dived at night to furnish it and it's where I learned the pleasures of tomato sandwiches. One day we decided to hitch-hike to Mexico so we packed up a couple suitcases and headed south out of town with about $40 bucks between us.
In Tijuana we hit the bars and started drinking. When we ran out of money we sold our American made clothes from our suitcases to Mexicans on the street for pesos. In one bar we met an American who offered to drive us to Ensenada, so as the sun was rising, we took off. Along the way we picked up some Mexican hitch-hikers and we're all getting drunker on a bottle of something the stranger had in his car.
When we got to Ensenada, Louie was passed out and the stranger suggested he and I walk in opposite directions around the town square looking for the best bar, and meet on the other side. We took off and he never showed. I continued around the block and the stranger, the car, Louie and our suitcases, were gone. I was alone, broke, drunk and stranded in Ensenada, Mexico.
To be continued...