ciudad de los celulares

I lunch with a lawyer, five feet tall, big belly and little waist, tight belt. We eat with his kind faced friend who doesn´t like violent movies and who works as an engineer digging wells-- oil or water-- in a Chinese Restaurant guarded with big guns. There are so many big guns in this country, why not carry them? Javier spends a significant amount of time demonstrating all of his different cell phone rings. Guys who like gadgets are universal, like Converse All Stars.

We return to his office in his big, middle aged SUV. He is talking about buying a new Jeep Grand Cherokee although gas costs $4.00 a gallon here. I plug small cars, minis are the cool thing now in the US since gas prices are so high. It won´t work, but I have to weigh in anyway.

He is listening to some sort of easy listening station and mostly it´s easy, like instrumental versions of Paul Simon songs until this high-pitched and a little hysterical sounding version of "How Many Roads" comes on. We drive parallel to a chicken bus, a woman in a traditional Mayan dress talking on a cell phone with a baby slung across her back. It´s el dia doble for TIGO cell phone cards, too, and there are people at most big intersections trying to sell minutes to passing cars. There is an ache for modernity.

The soda fountain that I found, bathroom, place out of the exhaust to write a little, is playing classic rock and the Titanic soundtrack.

I have no idea what all of this means. Nothing in particular. Anything.