A Fight by the Dashboard Lights

The search party's Fairlane

Somewhere we can hear voices... and music, like from a portable radio. It sounds like Bob Dylan... How does it feel? How does it feel? To be on your own with no direction home?
How appropriate.
We are on top of this monolith. Some volcanic spire that is totally out of place out here. I have no idea how I climbed up here, or how Lou did for that matter. It is akin to climbing a power pole, except with sharp pointy rock. Where we sit is fairly comfortable, but when it is time to climb down I have a feeling first aid will be needed.
My stomach is wound as tight as my nerves. The heady trip we were on is now wound down to an amped-up feeling, and at the same time a feeling of total relief and relaxation. I know... it sounds weird. What is left of my hallucinations is just the color spectrum and total focus for all the good it does me out here in the dark.
Lou points to a spot in the blackness where a dim light can be seen. It is off about a quarter mile in the distance and there seems to be several voices in the mix.
"Do you hear that?" I am not sure I hear it myself.
"Yes."
"Do you hear voices and Bob Dylan on a car radio?"
"Yes."
Talkative motherfucker.
"Well, either we are both crazy or there is a car with people right over there."
Lou stands, and I carefully stand with him, totally aware that we are at least thirty feet in the air from what I had to climb up to get here.
"Must be a road."
"You think?"
"They could be in a four wheel drive, asswipe."
"There's our little Miss Sunshine... welcome back."
"Shhh."
Headlights turn on and they illuminate four figures walking out ahead of the beams. They start to call out. A couple of flashlight beams reflect through the choke of dust at their feet as they make there way. One of them calls out an all too familiar name, the voice thick with a French accent.
"Oh crap, Lou turns to me. "They're looking for Justin. He must have made some kind of arrangement for them to meet him here."
I look off into the blackness toward where I thought we had seen the white clothing earlier in our vision quest. I can't tell if there is something there or not, and don't know for sure if I saw it earlier either.
As I am pondering what we did or did not see, Lou leaps off of the spire into the darkness.
"Holy Shit... " I look over the side only to see that it is just a ten foot drop on this side. I scoot off and drop the distance, impacting the sand next to him.
"You let me climb that fucking thing from the other side. That was like straight up, man."
"You whine like a mule."
"What?"
Lou waves me behind him, moving quickly toward where we hoped we had seen the hostage earlier.
"Stay down and stay quiet. If these guys find him first they get the stones. We lost too many friends and worked to fucking hard to let that happen."
Lou moves through the scrub and catcus, over rocks and through washes like he lives there. I just follow, completely trusting the fact that he knows where he is going. To our right and off in the distance, the four men scour the brush with flashlights, now too far ahead of the headlights for them to matter. They are now just a guide back to the vehicle.
They call out his name every dozen steps or so, first one, then another. They all seem to have French accents, all but one that is distinctively Mexican.
Just as we tack through the brush to the right Lou stops dead in his tracks... I nearly run into the back of him.
"There," he whispers.
I strain my eyes to see... and there it is, the white clothing straight ahead. I turn and see the four members of the search party about five minutes behind us. There certainly isn't much time.
Lou comes up on him first. He is laying face down in the sand.
"Is he dead?"
Lou gives him a kick... nothing. He reaches down and grabs his wrist, clocking his fingers around until he finds what he is looking for.
"He has a pulse."
Immediately he starts to search him; pockets, cuffs, in his hair, in all parts of his clothing. Nothing.
"Motherfucker." Lou stands, both hands on his hips. "Man... I hope he didn't hide them where I hid them."
I look at Justin, then at Lou, "Hey, I'm not touching him."
Lou just shakes his head.
Behind us the voices get louder as they approach us. We don't have time to play games.
"Just leave the fucking things and lets get out of here."
"NO." He says it just a little too loud and the men with the flashlights freeze in their steps. There is a little foreign muttering and then one of them call out his name, but this time it is different.
"Shhhh." I try to quiet Lou, who is now on his knees in front of the body. He is just about to yank the clothing down to go diving when I notice something.
"Hey, aren't those shoes a little big?
Lou stops and lets go of the cotton pants. "He was wearing sandles the other day."
He reaches down and pulls one of them off, reaching in all the way to the toe. Even in the dark I can see that he has found something.
"Check the other one." He tells me.
Sure enough, in a wad of fabric is the other half of the stones.
"They're all here." I dump mine in Lou's hand and he counts them just to be sure.
The men, they are just about on us now. They have stopped calling Justin's name and are now just moving toward us, sweeping the flashlights through the darkness.
Lou motions for me to follow and we break out and around Justin's position, swinging a wide arc back to the glowing headlights about an eighth of a mile behind us. As we approach the vehicle, we can see only one man... a big one, like a wrestler, standing beside the vehicle smoking what looks like a joint. Once we are down wind, we can smell it... local shit.
I don't even pretend that I am going to take this guy. After all, this is what Lou does. We sneak up on the back of the car, but just as we get to the trunk and Lou is prepared to move on him, the rest of the search party can be heard yelling. They have found him.
Lou bolts from the back of the car... the wrestler hears him coming. Instead of some neck snapping, karate chopping, ninja style shit.... Lou just leaps on his back and tries to get his hands around the guy's neck. I watch for a milli-second, just enough to see Lou hurled off of this guy's back and over the top. Now, with him on the ground, it looks like the wrestler is going to put him in a Boston Crab Lock or something.
"Hey." I yell to him. Off in the distance the flashlights cast their beams back in our direction at the commotion, not that they will see a thing.
I throw the handful of sand in his eyes and temporarily blind him. That was it for my contribution.
"Get up." I grab Lou by the arm and pull him to his feet. He is heaving, trying to catch the wind that was knocked out of him. Haystack Calhoun is digging at his eyes when Lou kicks his left knee from the side. The sound of it giving way beneath him is that of someone deboning a chicken. He starts to scream out in pain, but a quick punch to the throat... even through the twenty inches of neck, silences him. He goes down. He may or may not be able to breath, but we don't give a fuck.
In the car, we turn the key and the battery rolls hard, dimming the lights. Ahead we can see the beams of light dancing all over as the men run back toward the car.
"The lights."
"No shit."
He punches the light switch in and now we are in blackness. He tries it again and it barely rolls over. Lou turns the key on, gives it four or five pumps and tries it again. It rolls over twice, the men can be heard running at us, the chatter between them of an urgent nature. Finally the engine catches and Lou floors it as he slams it into gear. We throw a huge cloud of dust as the old '59 Ford Fairlane is turned nose to tail in a rather slick Hollywood move on Lou's part. He drops it into drive and we follow the tire tracks out of the desert.
Gunfire errupts, one firearm and not well aimed. We put considerable distance between us and them before Lou slows a bit and re-claims the tracks that led them here.
We have the stones once more and have managed to escape. My heart is pounding. Lou rolls his window down and rests his arm on the opening. He reaches down to the radio and checks the presets... all Mexican music, except one. Jackson Browne... not my first choice for an escape, but it puts us on the boulevard on a Saturday night... back in the day. I roll my window down and we let the cool desert breeze blow through us as I settle in to the red and white imitation leather. Ahead the sun is rising, my cousin is in mortal danger, we are in a stolen car that was probably in that condition when we got in it, and we now have the diamonds.
What was once our is ours again

Talking to Carlos

What Lou looks like when I am on Peyote







I just shake my head. What are we doing out here... why? We could be in town eating at a little outdoor cafe', drinking beer and fucking around with the local women.
But no, Carlos Castenada here wants to go on a Vision Quest a thousand yards from an armed border that we will have to run across at some point in time.I can't believe I ate this shit. I swallow more and more of the awesome breakfast burrito that Mike made me as I try to put something good on top of something really bad.
It is a stupid waste of time. Although I have never eaten peyote before, I know what happens. You get pretty sick to your stomach, and then you trip your balls off. But I am thinking that the feeling in my gut is the sickness. Nope, that is just the vile taste of the peyote churning in there with the added volume of the burrito. It all stays in place, for the time being. I realize the total waste of consuming any food at all to try to put off the inevitable.

We are talking about the diamonds, about Justin, and how we may get them back. Lou thinks that he might have been the one that brought the diamonds for trade, that Artero Montoya... whom he claimed he worked for, is just a pawn in this game. If this is true, then there is certainly more to Justin Zildgen than meets the eye.

My stomach is churning. Lou's head hangs low between his shoulders as he sits next to me. He moves his feet apart and then pukes between them. I turn away, but to slow to keep from seeing.I vomit heavily, with enough force to put out a roof fire. I hear Lou laughing between his wretching. It is about a minute of sickness, of wishing I had never agreed to any of this, of wishing Lou had eaten all of it so I would be the one laughing. But when I catch my breath, when I finally raise my head after the churning in my gut passes, I am looking out onto a whole new world.
At first it is just the brilliance of things, the colors and fine lines... contrast. It is as though I have hypervision, perfect clarity allowing me to see the movement of everything around me. It is quite subtle at first, but as I let it in, it becomes part of my experience.
Because of this wonder, the first of many, I forget about Lou, about the border crossing, about Mitch and the rescue. I am overwhelmed with the nature around me and the communion I feel.

As I watch a scorpion move from one spot to another, I sense its purpose... I see it's journey and destination. When I move to pick it up, a hand reaches out and grasps my forearm.
"No... " The voice is deep and resonant... one that I haven't heard before. I turn and it is just Lou. I will realize after all of this is over how important it is to have a guide with you. Someone who has taken this journey before and knows the dangers.
He turns me toward him and I look at his face. It is younger but wiser some how. Gone are the lines in his face that showed worry and anguish. He is bright with light, even in the scorching daylight sun he seems to glow on his own. In his hand is the hat that I was wearing earlier. I put it on when it is offered.
Lou takes the hose of his Camelback and takes a swallow. I do the same, marvelling at the cool clean water as it washes around inside my gullet.We sit in the shade once more, cross-legged in the desert sand. Lou begins to talk to me. I don't see his lips move, so I no longer look at him, but to the desert.
He tells me about Carlos Castenada, about learning to fly with the Yaqui Shaman named don Juan Matus. He talks of the Nagual that he had met on his last journey... the shapeshifter, a coyote. As I listen to him, my mind travels and his voice is just an echo.

I stare into the horizon. What was Seguaro cactus, scrub and sand, is now an almost neon display of life that had been hidden from view. In the mid-afternoon sun everything in my view is in motion. Clouds that hung lifeless in the sky now move with what looks like the crashing of waves on a blue beach. The sand at my feet moves in a circular motion, drawing me in as if in a whirlpool. I grow out, extra arms and legs, like the roots of a mighty oak, and hold my ground as the earth gives way beneath my feet.
I am in the air, no ground below me, nothing around me but the brilliant blue of the sky and the blazing sun. I hear Lou speaking to me... telling me to pull back. I look around me and see nothing; no rock, no Lou, no border crossing, nothing but a bird. It is black and doesn't look as though it belongs here.Lou's voice gets louder as the bird flaps lazily toward me. I try to watch it as it flies across the sun. I don't shield my eyes and when it passes I am temporarily blinded by the flash. When my eyes see again it is the bird, as big as a man, with Lou's eyes and voice. Man am I tripping.
Time must be passing, but I am not aware of it. I do know that the shocking glare of the afternoon sun has mellowed and the heat, which was like that of hell itself has dissipated. I have stayed on Lou's wing, so to speak, since he spoke to me last. We have taken flight, over and above the bodies that are below us sitting cross-legged in the sand. He wings over toward the line of the border and I stay with him. I do not question this, nor do I look too hard at the fragile nature of this illusion. I am here because I believe. If I have any doubt I am sure to fall to my death.Over the border now, the air is sweet with cactus bloom. But there is another smell that we soon come upon. Death mingles with the smell of earth and sky. Parched bones of a not so fortunate traveler lay pleading with the desert for one more breath, one more drop of moisture, none of which would ever come for him. A bony finger points toward the spire of rock that takes rise a several hundred yards away.

We swoop down, the air like a blast furnace on my face as we jet toward the monolithic rise in the desert floor. I can hear Lou, talking to himself as he guides us to the top of the monolith. There we perch, still black birds in the stark afternoon light. With a keen eye we look toward the north and there we see him, the white cotton of his new clothing marking the spot where he has fallen.

Lou turns on the spire and I turn with him. He scoots out to the edge and then leaps, spreading his wings. I follow, staying with his every move. We circle above the white linen, catching a thermal… riding it in wide, lazy circle as we gain our altitude. As we make our way, I look up into the heavens. The flash of sunlight blinds me and I close my eyes. In that instant I fall, like an elevator in a tall building. I hold my hands over my eyes and feel the beating of my heart, the wind rushing in my ears as I accelerate toward the desert below.

Then it is Lou’s voice, talking to someone. The wind is gone, the heat… gone, the feeling of falling now replaced with the feeling of sand under my ass and legs. I am still sitting cross legged in the shade.

Lou speaks to someone… a coyote, and in a tongue I don’t recognize. He gets to his feet and begins a slow shuffle, speaking in this language, talking to the coyote as he keeps pace in front of him. Soon I hear the drums, the drums that set the beat that Lou’s feet move to… first one step and a scoot, then the other foot takes a step and then a scoot. This goes on until I am up on my feet, the drums now wild in my ear. A fire, the largest I have ever seen, burns out of control and we dance around it, but it is light without heat.
The words that Lou has been mumbling take on form and we both chant the lines as we move around the firelight. Then, all at once, the fire is gone, the coyote stops and looks at us, then darts into the brush. I look at Lou, his aura glowing neon around him, and he looks back at me with assurance. He knows.

All is blackness. Movement of shadow, first one, then another, until we are in the middle of some kind of shadow migration. Lou turns, grabs my hand, and we are gone, running as quickly as we can through the desert.
Then I am on my own. I can see Lou’s aura ahead of me, guiding me. There are shadows moving with me, in front and behind. Several disappear before me, and then I too fall over the edge of the abyss and down the side of the small canyon, splashing into the small arroyo. I run, trying to catch up with Lou, but he is lost to me now.

I run until I am alone. No more shadow, no more migration. I am alone in the middle of the desert on a pitch black night. Then I see him, standing atop the monolith we had seen earlier that now is just ahead. I make the climb to the top and Lou takes a seat beside me. We look out onto the desert floor, and even in the pitch blackness we can see our mark lying motionless among the scrub.

Behind us, a helicopter flies the fence line, guiding a couple of Border Patrol vehicles to the ongoing movement of illegals making the journey we had just completed.

We have made it across, and have made a Vision Quest that I will remember to my dying day. With the hostage in sight, the next move will be ours to take.

A Vision Quest

The border crossing at Sonoyta

"Oh, that there is a shame." Mike pours us some coffee as we sit in the huge motorhome. This isn't a dinette, but a dining room table with chairs and everything. "You know, I lost my car keys once... took me two days to find them. You know where I found them? Do ya? In the pocket of my dress pants. Never where the damn things except for special occasions."
"Theo, they didn't lose anything."
"Why sure they did there, Andy. Lou here says he lost that little pouch that was on his neck yesterday."
"No, Theo, it wasn't lost... it was stolen."
Mike gasps, like this is news. He looks over at Lou, who has that thousand yard stare I had seen before that last bloodbath.
"Gee, Lou... I'm sorry you had your pouch stolen." He looks back at Andy, "Who do you suppose would do such a thing?"
Andy stares at him for a beat, then rather than roll his eyes he just tisks. "That would be the other guy. The guy we don't see here this morning."
Mike grabs his chin with the palm of his hand, like this might take some time to deduce.
"Justin, Theo, Justin is the one that took the pouch." Andy takes his coffee mug in both hands and takes a sip.

"Are you sure there, Andy? Why would that little guy take that pouch? Could be it just fell off and he picked it up." He looks at Lou, "He might not know it's yours there, Lou. Might be he is out looking for the rightful owner as we speak."

"Doubtful." Andy says, straightening out his ball cap. This one says that he is an "Official Belly Skin Inspector".

"Well, I just hate to think the worst of people that we don't even really know, you know?" He looks back at Lou, hoping to see a nod or a wink or something other than that unnerving stare.

"What was it you had in that there little pouch, Lou. Was it your valuables? Not much for room in that little thing." He pulls out a wallet made out of some kind of exotic hide. "Andy and I bought us a couple of these here wallets up around Tuscon at the border town there. I keep everything in here."

He starts to show Lou, but I interrupt. I don't think he will be deserving of what comes out of Lou's mouth when he is in one of these moods.

"He had something valuable in there, Mike... just not cash. That was in his other pocket." I take a deep breath. The aroma coming from the kithenette is like no other. "Breakfast smells awesome, Mike." Better to change the subject.

Lou is silent most of the way through breakfast. The meal is spectacular. Not just eggs, sausage, and hashbrowns. The sausage was handmade by Mike before the trip ever began, infused with mango salsa and smoked over applewood and hickory. The eggs are a scramble with vidalia sweet onions, smoked gouda cheese, spinach, and sharp cheddar. His hashbrowns are of the shredded variety, cooked in a special garlic oil that he makes, with fried onion and some kind of mild green pepper cooked to crispy bits in the mix of Yukon Gold potatoes.
It is enough, in the end, to bring Lou back to us.
"Jesus... where the hell did you come from, Mike? You can cook better than anyone I have ever met."
Mike blushes and can't help but smile, "It's my gift, I guess. Some people can sing songs, some people play instruments, I cook."
"No shit."

We break camp in a matter of minutes, which consists of cranking the awning down and folding the lawn chairs. Andy speaks with one of his neighbors to tell them he will be back. I take the moment to go down to the marina and have a word with Garcia the Harbor Master. I pay for Naomi's mooring for the next month or so. He will have her looked at by is nephew, who is an aircraft mechanic for Mexicana Air. I write a short note to him to let him know what happened and what I would like him to do in my absence. I then write a note for Garcia to relay over the short-wave to Nogales and eventually Jerry back at El Corazon. I tell him that "we are all right, Naomi is down for the count, proceeding to border with new found friends... will contact you when we are in the states."

I hear a toot from Andy on the airhorns and realize that I am holding up the show.
"You friend, the little guy, he not go with you?" Garcia says as I start to walk out.
I stop and turn to look at him, "No... he left without us."
"He catch a ride with my wife Norita. She makes the supply run every other morning to Sonoyta. We get many things from Lukeville on the other side of the border."
"He went with her? Does she have a cell phone? Can you call her?"
The horns blast a little longer this time. I lean out of the Marina office doorway and give a wave, then hold a finger up... just a second.
"No, Senior, she has no cell phone. Is everything okay?"
I pause for a moment, enough to make Garcia visibly nervous. "Yeah, everything will be fine. I didn't mean to make you worry."

I load up and the door to the coach closes on my ass before I am up the steps. I have obviously put Andy out by not being ready. He tisks as he looks in his mirrors to back out.
"I guess our little friend hopped a ride with Garcia's wife up to Sonoyta."
Andy nods, shooting a glance at the road over his shoulder before pulling the rig onto the asphalt.
"Norita makes that ride a few times a week. Her sister lives over the border and they do a pretty good trade for supplies. I am suprised that she took Justin with her. She is a timid thing, and not much for conversation."
I look at Lou, who is running some plan... I can see it in his eyes.
"Well, you boys just relax. We should be there in a little more than an hour if traffic isn't too bad."

We get to the border town of Sonoyta about an hour and fifteen minutes after we started, travelling in a long line of motorhomes, campers, and cars with trailers.
Lou comes back from using the bathroom and pulls out a roll of cash.
"Andy, do you think we might buy those water packs you have in the crapper?"
Andy pulls up and out of line, stopping in a dirt parking lot behind the main street.
"Those are my special order "Camelbacks". It took me two months to get those."
Lou knows that money doesn't do the talking with this guy. Oh, he will want to get paid for them, but a little finesse is what will make the deal.
"I realize that you went to some great lengths to order those. But me and Jake, we lost our passports and I.D. when our boat sank out from under us in the Caribbean. We can't wait for replacements, we can't leave his cousin to die without doing our best to get there. So, please, let me pay you for your trouble taking us here... and those Camelbacks. We have to make the border on foot."
"That is going to get you boys arrested for sure." Andy sounds like the father I never had.
"We have to take that chance. But to go into the desert with nothing is going to kill us for sure."
"Geez, fellas... " Mikes starts emptying food into a couple of plastic Ziplock bags. "You'll starve out there with nothin' to eat."
"Mike, we are getting across that border tonight. We'll be fine."
Andy points to the roll of bills, "Sixty bucks each for the Camelbacks, and forty for gas." He looks at Theo, who shakes his head. "That's what I paid for them."

Mike set us up with a couple of sandwiches, some fish from the night before, and what is left of the breakfast wrapped in a couple of huge flour tortillas.

We fill the Camelbacks from the shower head and can see the pain in Andy's expression at the fact we are sapping his fresh water supply. Mike can see the discomfort.

"Geez, Andy, you don't want them to have to drink the water here. That'll make 'em sick for sure."

Andy tisks, "We'll have to fill up at that retirement community that has the treatment center. That will take the better part of the afternoon."

"So we go out tonight and do a little night fishing. It'll be fine. At least these guys have that there fresh water on their backs."

We step out of the motorhome and say our good-byes. These are a couple of good guys. Along the lines of Loco and Blanco. It would be nice to find a way to thank them. Hopefully our paths will cross again. With a quick handshake from Andy, and a hearty two hander from Mike, we walk off down the ally and turn toward the border crossing.

"We could try to cross, tell them what happened." I re-adjust the straps of the water bladder on my back.

"What happened?"

"We tell them that we lost our identification when our boat went down, and that we are on our way up to California to help my cousin."

"First of all, they probably hear stories like that all morning, afternoon, and night. Second of all, I don't need to put myself up for inspection to these bastards. Third of all, we are going to cross like all of these other wetbacks."

"What, do you have unpaid parking tickets?"

"Something like that."

"Well, I have news for you. If they catch us, you will be explaining it all anyway."

"I'll take that chance."

"What, do you have a warrant out for you or something."

"More like the Or Something."

"Okay, don't tell me."

"Let's just say that I am taking a big chance to be here with you, and that should be enough for you to stop asking so many FUCKING QUESTIONS."

"Wow, touchy today."

Lou starts walking and I follow. With the purpose in his steps, and the speed he is taking them, it seems like he knows where he is going... what he is doing.

We buy a couple of wide brimmed hats that keep the sun off our heads and necks. Lou takes a moment with the guy that sells us the hats. I assume he is getting some sort of directions. He finishes his conversation and off we go. Taking small ticks off the water, we head out of town, keeping the border to our right and about a thousand yards off. It is about two hours later that we get passed most of the heavy fortification and the patrols don't seem to be as often. We stop and take a little shade under an outcropping of rock.

The desert out here is quite beautiful... and deadly. Lou kicks a scorpion off of his boot. Ten minutes later a tarantula crawls between us. I go to kill it, but Lou stops me.

"Leave him alone and he will leave us alone."

"That hairy motherfucker will crawl on your face tonight and bite the living hell out of you."

"No... he won't. You have to look at things like the ancients did. Kharma, man, nature is full of it."

"What the hell is in that Camelback, vodka? Your not making much sense."

Behind us a helicopter flies the fenceline, or what there is of it, at about two hundred feet. They don't have too much concern for what is on the Mexican side of the border, so we are safe for the moment.

"Tonight... " Lou trails off as he pulls a crumpled pack of Marlboros out of his pocket, "we will make a vision quest."

"Since when do you smoke cigarettes?"

"Not cigarettes."

He tips the pack and a handful of nasty looking... dried, leathery pieces about the size of a nickel fall into his palm.

"What the hell is that?"

"You ever read any Carlos Castenada?"

"Peyote?"

"Yep." Lou turns and looks at the border behind us as a Border Patrol vehicle bounces along the fenceline. He follows its progress for a moment, then looks at his watch. "The best time to cross is going to be tonight. "That gives us quite a bit of time to blow."

"So you want to trip on peyote? What if something happens. What if you go crazy and snap my neck? What if we get so fucked up that we walk the wrong way into the desert and get lost?"

Lou holds a finger up.

"Wait. Don't say another thing, man. I have made this communion with Mother Earth before under similar circumstances. Yes, we will trip our balls off, but we will also gain a sense of direction... figuratively and literally. In the end, the desert will guide us through to safety on the other side."

I grab the mouth-piece off his Camelback and take a sip.

"Water... just water. Have you lost your mind?"

"No." He takes a small handful of the peyote, half of what is there, and puts it in his mouth. He chews for a moment, then chases it with a long pull off the water.

"Oh shit."

Lou holds out the remaining peyote. When I don't take it, he shakes it in his palm.

"Either you take this, or I will. Then where will you be."

"Oh for Christ's sake, give it to me." I take the vile looking peyote buttons and put them in my mouth. Just a couple of chews is all I can take before washing them down. They taste awful. Worse than mushrooms which I have tripped on in the past. I drink a couple of swallows of water and then dip into my food bag to get the taste out of my mouth.

"Now what?" I say through a bite of breakfast burrito.

"We wait."