We walked along those ancient tracks of commerce, now rusty paralleled iron atop wooden boards as cracked as the small granite stones upon which the whole rested. We had not traveled far when we came upon the refuse of some unfortunate civilized person, a jumbled pile of debris and odds and ends, some half-useful, others in good condition but useless. A small jumprope. A water-damaged book on How to Write. decorative plates. a large cadmium battery, probably dead. cds to throw as frisbees. cardboard boxes. And a few treasures. A computer, scavenged by our mousy friend. A copper and glass candle lantern, to light the way in dark places. But not this trip, for we had no candles.

We moved on, using opportunities for photographs with the moon hung full in the sky and the sun just setting, still sending a full range of colors across the blue expanse. One end we came to, cars sitting idle and forgotten by all but their homeless occupants. We did not feel right intruding upon the unfortunate habitation, so we returned to the turn in the tracks. On the left hand was a deep ditch with slowly flowing water, and on the right tall grass in a small field lined with trees unwelcoming.

We reached another street and turned to make the circuit back to our vehicle. Our walk took us through a neighborhood of Mexicans, quaint and proud of what they had. We wondered much at their road-side trash: two computer moniters at one house, several computer towers at another, a mini-fridge at another, a couch at another. But it was not our place to stop or stay or ask questions.

We passed a large house that seemed to be a south-american mansion, a plantation house, two story with wings. If an apartment, it looked inviting. If a single habitation, it was surely a mob-house or mafia home, a gang hang-out or den of thieves, a drug-lord and prostitution king's seat of power. Hearing laughter and the sound of several people having fun, we were drawn to it, but we dared not intrude.

Near the end of our journey, in a small lot, we found several old BMWs and the perfect lighting for reference photos. An illegal exchange. A confrontation with a prostitute. A searcher in the dark. Propositions. We headed home with a full camera, wistful for more memory.