Feed Tijuana Satire

484 Words2 Pages
Spare Change As I stepped off the San Diego trolley, I knew that I was going to embark on a great adventure. Tijuana. As I neared the entrance to cross the border, there was a priest with a plastic bowl and a picture of some kids. The caption on the picture said, “Feed Tijuana’s homeless children.” Yeah, right, I thought to myself, just another scam; this guy probably isn’t even a priest. Tijuana. Just the name of the city brings back a distinct smell. It is a smell that you will only know if you have been there. A smell that will permeate my olfactory senses forever. A thousand different scents compounded into one. The smell of fast food, sweat, sewage, and tears. As you crossed the border, the first thing that hits you is the smell I…show more content…
This place is reasonably clean and clear of trash. You hear the deafening sounds of the music from the nearby clubs and see dozens of drunken Americans stumbling around. A lot of tourists are carrying what seems like five bags each and a distressed look, the kind you get when you have been shopping all day. A score of children hold out little packets of colored Chiclets, a local gum, sold to you at any price you can haggle them down to. It’s pretty pathetic that you should feel the need to haggle over the price of gum with a child, but this is Tijuana.As I continued my journey, I reached a bridge. The bridge was terrible. Along the sides there was trash and rubbish. Towards the middle of the bridge, I experienced one of the most touching moments in my life, one of those happy ones where you don’t know if you should shed a tear from happiness or out of despair. There was this little child playing the accordion and another playing a guitar. He was singing a Spanish song; well, it actually sounded like he was screaming as his compadre strummed. He had a little cup in front of him, and I threw a coin in. He just smiled and kept singing. I turned around and left, but this time as I passed the priest, I filled his plastic bowl with the rest of my
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