I woke up in the open air bar/restaurant in the Los Mochis railroad station.
I had slept on two chairs, while over a hundred slept outside on the train
platform. By the time I was awake, the people had set up food stands.
I grabbed my surplus backpack and stepped out for some fried bread and
coffee. About '69 or '70. I sat there, the only gringo around, waiting for the train
back to Nogales. I had long hair then, still do, and this guy walked by twice
before he asked, "Tu sabes mota?" I said yes. Vamanos. We walked to the
end of the station and a bit more into the trees. About 5 or 6 Mexican cotton pickers were
there. One of them rolled a huge joint, and we all shared and passed it around.
Thoroughly stoned, one of the guys picked up two ants, one red and one black.
They fought in the palm of his hand as we all watched in stoned amazement.
After a bit I walked back to the station. The train came in, with dozens of
cotton pickers riding on top of the cars. Almost all of them had was the big
folded cotton bag stuffed in their belt. I finally made it back to Tucson.
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thanks.
