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conditioner, turned it to full blast. It clicked a few times before starting, and even when it did it was nothing more than a luke warm sputter.
    He sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress as soft as a pile of bricks. But when the hiss of Marta’s shower seeped through the wall, Felix ran his palms over his face, and headed for the door.
    The sun had disappeared now, and the night was damn hot, but he decided he needed a walk anyway. Needed to get away from Marta and cool off for a while. Most of all, he needed that drink.
    He walked up the street toward the congregation of men whose voices were now loud and animated, gruff laughter exploding from their huddle. Their radio played tinny music mixed with bursts of static as the station they were listening to went in and out.
    As Felix approached, their laughter ceased and they all watched silently as he strolled toward them. One man stood from his chair, crossed his arms.
    “Hola,” Felix said. “Um…tequila?  ¿ Donde está tequila?”
    The men all glanced at each other, the one standing letting his arms drop to his sides.
    “Muchacha mucho loco,” Felix said as he pointed back toward the motel, doing his best to remember his Spanish classes from high school. “Necesito tequila.”
    The men exploded into laughter, elbowing each other and slapping their knees. The standing man stepped toward Felix, put an arm around his shoulders. He smelled like beer and sweat, and Felix could feel the dampness of the man’s armpit on the back of his neck.
    “Está bien, mi amigo. Ándale.” He handed Felix a beer, patted him on the shoulder. “There’s bar that way,” he said pointing up the road. “Not far.”
    Felix popped his beer open, held it up. “Salud.”
    The men held up their beers, all now smiling at Felix. He drank half the beer in one gulp and started up the road. The men continued to cackle behind him, their laughs thick with drunkenness.
    He would have missed the bar if the woman wasn’t standing outside of the door, clearly inebriated and having a hard time staying on her feet. When she saw Felix, a crooked smile revealing blackened teeth emerged. Felix drank the last of his beer and crushed the can beneath his shoe.
    “Bueno, bueno, bueno,” she slurred as she stepped toward him, stumbling once but catching herself on Felix’s shoulder. Her breasts nearly poured out of her halter top, white stretch marks running down the brown flesh.
    “No thank you,” Felix said, and tried to politely remove her hand from his shoulder, but she gripped his shirt, slid her other arm around his waist.
    “Come on, papi. Don’ be like that.” Her tongue basted her front teeth with saliva, and her hand darted from his waist to his crotch, squeezing.
    “Hey, goddamnit.” Felix twisted away from her, and the sloppy woman tumbled to the dirt. Her skirt hiked up her thighs, and Felix saw she wasn’t wearing any panties. He caught a glimpse of matted black hair and wrinkled flesh before he turned his head.
    “¡Hijo de puta! ¡Maldito hijo de puta!” The woman tried to get back to her feet, but kept tumbling back to the ground.
    Felix shook his head as he entered the bar.
     
    ***
     
    Cristobal slid another morsel of meat into his mouth, licked the grease from his lips. His eyelids fluttered as he chewed, used the tortilla in his right hand to sop up the rest of the juice on his plate.
    “Delicioso, Mamá. Como siempre.”
    The old woman’s hands shook as she spooned the soup’s broth into her trembling, wrinkled lips. Her stomach couldn’t handle the meat anymore, she would say, but she still cooked it for her family, for the trailer. And she hadn’t lost her touch after all these years. Her eyes were tired, nearly pinched shut as she swallowed. “Necesitamos mas carne, mijo.”
    Alma sat beside Mamá, unable to keep her eyes off Cristobal. Her bulging belly was pressed against the edge of the table, and she rubbed it lovingly as her gaze darted from her plate