![]() ![]() What am I going to major in when I get back to college? Can I even live in the U.S. ![]() ![]() I have my own deliberations to weigh out while in Mexico for a year, namely what the hell to do with my life. The other two walls are a miscellany of small framed ephemera: black and white photographs faded color photographs miniature landscapes paintings, a still life, or natuaralza muerte, as the owner, Luis, has referred to them, dead nature a Juan Posada lithograph of a skull with roses for hair a bright purple scarf and old menu (Was it from when the café opened?) a twenty-peso note, Benito Juárez staring off to the side with upturned white collars and parted hair next to a weigh scale, one side a bit lower than the other, in front of a heavy book that is propped open. In the other painting, across the room, the demented face of a clown crowds the foreground, unpleasantly close, with swirling patches of colors behind him like a wet city street scene at night. From two of the granite walls in the main room of Truco 7 hang a pair of immense paintings, the one just above me maybe ten feet across and eight feet high. ![]()
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