In my dream, I am passing through Mexico.
Just north of the border, I come across Pedro. He has a box full of powerful fireworks, and is setting up some cool pyrotechnics on the desert plain. I ask him where I can get some too. He says, "just across the border", pointing out into the desert in the general direction of Juarez. I head that way.
Watching now as Owen Wilson drives a bright gold 1970s hot rod erratically through the desert. Russell Crowe is sitting in the passenger seat, bracing himself through the open window. Flashing across the landscape, the car skids and upends itself, hood pointing down into the sand. After a moment the car begins shaking and flips over onto its top.
Panning out and back from the scene as Mexican workers on scaffolds build a hotel. Something seems odd as they all start dancing a choreographed routine, like dancers from a Michael Jackson music video. Turning the corner I see Johnny Depp standing near the back of the hotel courtyard, and realize this is a movie he's directing. I say "this isn't going to end well".
Driving now in a tiny blue car on a pothole strewn highway near Mexico City with bad brakes. I am going way too fast and swerve to avoid the potholes. Pushing hard on the flimsy brakes, I exit and turn up a winding road toward a house on a bluff. Stepping out, I see that it overlooks an electrical power plant sitting next door to an indigenous tribe and village far below.
The people of the tribe and their village are covered in ash from the plant. I move around the yard atop the bluff overlook to try and position myself to get a photo to show others of this tragic convergence of modern and indigenous life.
Just north of the border, I come across Pedro. He has a box full of powerful fireworks, and is setting up some cool pyrotechnics on the desert plain. I ask him where I can get some too. He says, "just across the border", pointing out into the desert in the general direction of Juarez. I head that way.
Watching now as Owen Wilson drives a bright gold 1970s hot rod erratically through the desert. Russell Crowe is sitting in the passenger seat, bracing himself through the open window. Flashing across the landscape, the car skids and upends itself, hood pointing down into the sand. After a moment the car begins shaking and flips over onto its top.
Panning out and back from the scene as Mexican workers on scaffolds build a hotel. Something seems odd as they all start dancing a choreographed routine, like dancers from a Michael Jackson music video. Turning the corner I see Johnny Depp standing near the back of the hotel courtyard, and realize this is a movie he's directing. I say "this isn't going to end well".
Driving now in a tiny blue car on a pothole strewn highway near Mexico City with bad brakes. I am going way too fast and swerve to avoid the potholes. Pushing hard on the flimsy brakes, I exit and turn up a winding road toward a house on a bluff. Stepping out, I see that it overlooks an electrical power plant sitting next door to an indigenous tribe and village far below.
The people of the tribe and their village are covered in ash from the plant. I move around the yard atop the bluff overlook to try and position myself to get a photo to show others of this tragic convergence of modern and indigenous life.
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