Limpia.

Everybody has an opinion.

There's a side to the city that prefers anonymity, that resists intrusion—unless, of course, you're there on business.

ABIERTO. Three on this block. SOLICITANDO CHICAS. A heart in Sharpie makes it emphatic. Reggaetón bleeds through the walls. Cash. Bars close. Taxis honk. Cash. Bimbo Cuernitos and Joya Manzanita from Seven. Cash. Cigarettes and un encendedor, económico por favor. Cash. The girls stand every time a stranger enters. Cash. Their smiles vanish the second he chooses someone else. Cash. "Everybody has an opinion, but unless you've actually done this, you have no idea." Cash. The plastic bucket overflows: crumpled wads of tissue, baby wipes, used condoms. Cash. Cash. Cash.

Monterrey, centro. One is random. Two, a coincidence. After that, limpia. Somebody is taking down those who run los masajes, one well-placed bullet at a time.

It's best to mop up the blood before it gets sticky. Patching the wall can wait.

BACK.

It hurts. It costs. La máquina no da cambio. MORE.