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California has two faces.
Coming from Mexico it is desert and a never-ending wall just like the 40hr bus ride from Mexico City to Tijuana.

Twenty miles north it can’t be more different.
San Diego or San Dog is the American dream.
Warm weather all year long. Skinny tall palm trees. Perfect waves at Pacific Beach. Convertibles in La Jolla.
Ted’s bald-shaved head and broad shoulders. He is a good friend from the ol’ times in Bondi Beach. He picks us up with his Jeep and obviously Red Hot Chili Peppers is on air and surfboards on the roof. He and his girlfriend only eat fish ’cause here they make the best fish tacos in the world. Erika is blonde and breath-taking and teaches Yoga.
Ted is a bartender in a fancy restaurant downtown. He loves his job and is happy and when we drop our bags rather than a glass of water he fixes us a Moscow Mule.
He worked everywhere in San Diego ans is loved by everyone.
We go to the bars where the hostesses come in threes: White-Black-Asian and they’re there to make you comfortable with shiny-white teeth and wise cleavages. Everywhere its hands-shaking and knuckles with the guys behind the bar. And when we smash our whiskeys we get checks full with zeroes.

At the end of the night, which is still early since clubs shut at 2am in Cali, we stumble into a NBA player. No MJ, nor Lebron or Charles Barkley for the old-school. A hard-nosed player who comes off the bench and makes four mil a year in the process (Jared Dudley, guard of the Phoenix Suns).
When we walk past him he must think we are too busy being happy to ask him for an autograph.

Tonight we are the brightest stars in San Dog.