Mariguano

Product Information

Lately, you can't open a newspaper without seeing the picture of a driver who's been beaten or shot to death next to a torched van. His tailored shirt hangs just low enough around his waist to conceal the gold and silver engraved grips of his . I only catch a glimpse of the driver’s arm and the side of his head before the window goes up and the car pulls out of the gas station. Mariguano is the first novel in English to capture what it feels like to live on a day-to-day basis in the world of Mexican drug trafficking organizations. My Old Man is the baddest motherfucker in the Valley, and when he's around, everyone else is second.

Americans who want to take their vehicles any further south than this point have to get a tourist visa and a temporary import sticker for their cars. Daniel Chacón, author, And the Shadows Took Him and Hotel Juárez: Stories, Rooms, and Loops, "Ochoa's first novel is an important debut in American letters. The Marquis runs blocker for me and stays in the oncoming traffic lane while I make my pass so I can be sure the lane is clear and pass double-trailer rigs around curves and over hills with no danger of hitting anything head on. It's hard to describe sitting in sweltering heat watching two cocks slash the shit out of each other surrounded by the finest pieces of ass in Reynosa, and then comes this princess of something and all that beauty goes away.

We got the patch where they had their pot planted and made them cough up all the cash they had,” Polo says rubbing his palms together. The two sides of Record One feature Romperayo’s signature swing, boisterous and bold originals that perfectly encapsulate the group’s manic musical manifestations and talented disposition. The story is told through the eyes of Cortina's son, El Johnny, who bears witness to his father's cocaine-fueled transformation from devoted head of family to self-destructive head of a criminal organization that is rife with betrayal and deceit. Don Gato stops chewing on his tongue and strokes his mustache so that I catch a glimpse of his bottom lip then fixes his coke-bottle glasses and says, “We’re making the criminals pay, that’s for sure.

The Palenque's real cool especially now that Vicente has been bringing his sister-in-law to see the headliners during the variedad.It’s the combination that makes this session spectacular, as the musicians take center stage, the lead constantly in flux, yet floating harmoniously above the backdrop of the loaded percussion ensemble. Instead of going back toward Torreón, I follow my Old Man and Beto out of Durango southwest to Mazatlán. Burroughs’s Junky but also reads like the work of the best Mexican and Latin American novelists such as Carlos Fuentes and Gabriel García Márquez. It’s a breakthrough of styles and traditions at once, a joyous “Rhythmic Emancipation” for all to enjoy.

He looks a lot like a nerdy high school kid except he has a gun and talks to people like he wants a chance to use it.The word translates to "platter," I guess because of the size and shape of the badge, but it's really a license to do what ever the fuck you want. Onésimo looks in the rearview mirror and says to Vicente, "You see Loco, see how easy we got through that checkpoint with me driving? He hands me a post-card sized laminated badge that says he's a commissioned agent, level C, of the Seguridad Nacional Federal. Lolo's done real well for himself and expanded his organization to a small fleet of vans since then, but he hasn't thrown so much as a thank you our way. Onésimo says to my Old Man, "When I worked in El Registro, I was in charge of all those cabrones and I always gave them their fair cut.