There was this house I lived in many lifetimes ago. It was on a hill overlooking the city of Monterrey, Mexico. A city with 3 right turns and no lefts. It is noisy, crazy, and full of people speaking a language I only know from the slang spoken on the streets in Southern California. The best Chinese food I have ever had was in a small restaurant just outside the city center, cooked by Mexicans, still better than all the Chinese food I ate in San Francisco’s Chinatown.
My view of the mountain was magical, especially at sunset. The mountain turns purple at the bottom and red at the top. The shadows fall in a circle around the base all throughout the day. I loved to read in my window box and watch the mountain, every morning. There was a slowness about the day.
Nights were lively, with parties on the streets nightly. Just friends in trucks with music pouring out of the speakers dancing on the beds, enjoying life as best they could. It was fun to watch but was most fun when they reached out and sucked me into the celebrations. I wish I could go back and stay.
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