Palace Flophouse

Hark the most recent in a strange sequence of events - last night I was arrested by the mexican police and spent some time in a jail cell. My offence, as worded by the police officers, was "pissing on the street". Admittedly I was pissing on the street but it struck me as humorous that it was explained so unofficially. It was clear from the beginning I would be squeezed for pessos, or dollars. After searching our wallets, in between every note, perhaps memorising the amount so as to be able to extort as much money from me as possible, the feds put us into the back of a white pick up truck and we cruised around town. This was so much fun! "Savour the kudos!" said John as the wind whipped our hair and we smiled. Amusingly we could have simply jumped out at any stop sign or traffic light, but I wanted to see how it would fold out. We had already made an agreement to avoid paying bribes at all costs.

We got to the station which was had a small office with three guys inside. One of the guys was chatting on msn and watching porn on a computer. We gave our names and occupations (John was a new homes advisor, I was in "research") which was jotted down on a piece of blank paper, almost certainly later to be tossed in the bin. It was unclear at this point who exactly was being arrested. We started chatting about football with the policemen to butter them up, they were a bit cagey but I think it helped. Soon enough I was put in a cell which was dark with a concrete floor. Two of the guys had left and there was just one policeman now, chatting on the phone, msn and looking at porn simultaneously. John came to chat with me through the bars and we realised the door was only bolted shut - he could open it if he wanted and we could make a bolt for it. It was all a bit of a joke.

John was shooed away and I investigated the dark end of the cell which had a bed - a raised oblong of concrete - which, when I ran my hand across it to ascertain the softness of my new mattress, I found to be covered in piss. Plaintive requests to use the sink I could see through the bars to wash my hands of the piss were met with a silencing raised finger. John returned with a burger and strolled up to the cell to pass it through the bars which I solemnly accepted, indulging in my spurious martydom. "I've told you ten times wait outside!" said the guard from his seat. The lax-ness of the situation was very comical.I was told someone was coming to get me in 20 minutes and take me to a bigger police station, but, of course, "you could always pay the fine...". Instead I sat there and after half an hour I was let out in a shady manner by my captor, him pretending I had asked for directions or something so his supervisor wouldn't suspect anything.

We have decided recent events form the strangest consecutive 3 days of the trip so far, and refer to it as the fishermen-orphanage-prison sequence. In an orphanage handing out sweets one day, peering out from behind the bars of a cell the next.I'm a crazy guy, me.

´chard.