After your father passed you packed up and moved to Mexico. Once you arrived you found it hard as you didn’t speak the language. You wondered the streets, music played loudly as you passed by bars. The placed seemed packed, something called you in. As you went in, the men stared, you clearly weren’t from here. You sat at the bar and ordered a drink

“You’re not from here are you hermosa”

The man was the definition of what you would expect to see in MX. He was a charro, big sombrero, neat mustache, his belt blinged with stones and embroidery.