08-07-98 Day off. Juarez, Mexico.

Stuff these days off. We decide to walk over the border to Mexico. Kafka can't follow us over there. No visa on his Czech passport. He'll be stuck in immigration for hours. We'll just give him the slip.

I am always amazed by the heightened contrast between Mexico and America, You pay your 25 cents and walk over the bridge to Mexico. In a distance of 5 blocks the world has caved in. You look back to the American side of the border and you see high rise buildings with mirrored glass and motorways and street lamps. You look forward to the Mexican side of the border and everything is fucked. Decaying buildings, battered cars, hungry people. How can we justify this shit to ourselves? We need to get drunk.

We eat some good cheap food at a local Mexican diner. Half way through the meal it becomes apparent that the Dark Lord himself has prepared the burritos in a sauce of liquid fire. My mouth is on fire. We down beers and tequila to quell the flames, but to avail. Whitey is burning. I feel like I'm tripping. Suddenly there's a thunderstorm. We're not talking a few drop's of rain here, we're talking 'will the ceiling hold up on this shack?' kind of rain. There's a crackling sound as the duke box cuts out and the lights flicker in and out. I can see the rain pissing all over the mains electricity box. We run across the street to another bar. Water and electricity just shouldn't mix kids, no matter how much fun it might seem at first. We down a few margaritas for $1.50 a pop before Bo (the driver) and myself head back to the United States.

On the way we pick up a couple of cowboy hats and a bottle of $4.00 tequila to keep the sun and rain from our gringo foreheads and the chilli peppers from burning our underpants. Later Greg (the tour manager) and Jim come bowling back onto the bus. They're both hammered. Tequila slammed them both. Ba-ram-ba-ba-ram-bam-bam-ba . . . . hammered!

"Where've you two been?"
"Boys Town."
"Where?"
"Boys Town. It's full of Strip bars and tequila and porn and evil. 'You want donkey show? Two hundred dollar, many inches!'"
"How comes you're back so late?"
"Jim lost the attachment to his visa so we had to pay six dollars to get him back into the United States. And do you know what the best bit was?"
"No, what was the best bit?"
"He only had four dollars HA HA HA HA HA!"

No more days off please. Now even the tour manager has gone round the twist. I'm telling you. It's the days off that are going to kill us all. Look at me. I'm wearing a cowboy hat and pissing tequila. Where will it end?