Nuevo Laredo was dusty and dirty. More so with the approaching thunderstorm. The wind that ushered in the dark clouds threw grit in my eyes as I walked to get some food at about ten in the evening. I put on my sunglasses as I forced my way up the streets towards the bus station. […]
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On arriving in Nuevo Laredo, I found the nearest hotel to the bus station, and took a look at the last remaining room on offer. It was less than 20 dollars, and had mould growing apparently unconstrained on the ceiling, and a ceiling fan, two single beds and a small television. I agreed to take
I have to climb a mountain in June. A proper one, with ice and axes and plastic boots. I know nothing about mountain climbing, but it seemed like a good idea when Mr. Salter suggested it. It wasn´t until I had eight hours on a bus to Mexico that I started to read a book
