I have been making friends with El Toro and El Lobo. They are the neighborhood inebriated revelers. Nearly every Saturday morning astoundingly early we find them in the street, already halfway through a plastic bottle of Mescal, tottering around with brooms, sweeping the streets and stopping to howl out greetings to everyone that passes by. “Hey, Bro!”, they call out to me in heavily accented english as I begin sweeping our patio. Both of them have spent time in the States. El Lobo had jobs in Denver and Colorado Springs as a roofer. For the last month or two they have been hiring themselves out to the convenience store named Abarrotes Danny (Danny’s Grocery), the junk-yard, and our next door neighbors, sweeping and cleaning the streets for food and money. One day I was using a push-broom to clean up our street and El Toro yelled, “Competition?!” He likes to banter with everyone, routinely crowing like a rooster with that quintessential Mariachi squawk. He offered to borrow my push-broom and clean my street; now I am one of his clients. We give El Lobo and El Toro food, Izzy Juice drinks, or buy them soda from Danny’s for their time. I let him use the broom frequently to continue his work around the block. 

These are the cats that Juan does not want me talking with; he told me so again today. I know that it is good advice, but there is something about the way he says, “It makes me sad to see you talking with those guys. Avoid those guys. You cannot trust them. They can rob you or try to fight with you.” He is right, and I know it, but I cannot reconcile it in my heart, or my head. I think of Chad’s comment from Wide-Eyed. He said, “Minimize risk as much as possible, otherwise live. Just like the mountains I think.” And that is kind of how I feel about it all. When El Toro, El Lobo, and their sketchy side kicks are brazenly wasted, or high from huffing whatever they can find, I stay completely clear. I try not to even give them the chance to say ‘hola’. The mountains are not much different. Dangerous, inviting, lovely, mesmerizing, unpredictable;  but I do not want to stay away from them. I respect them. I know their danger but still I plunge into their granite cracks and snow filled couloirs. The truth is, I cannot live in this neighborhood and ignore the very people living in it; they are the alluring lifeblood of this community.

I have always been drawn to similar crowds from the streets. Spending significant time in East L.A., Skid Row, and in the heart of Mexico City not only added fuel to my addiction to this population, but it educated me in some alien way. I am from the rural lands: a country boy, almost a hick, and I was exposed to the wild way of the city. It left me with some hickey-country-hippie-townie way of thinking. I was branded by it. El Toro does not intimidate me, but almost inflicts my heart with pity. When I see him working so hard in the street I am laden with a deep sense of hope for him. Maybe, I think, today he will stay sober; this is his day… I am not naive, maybe a bit too graceful, but I understand his kinds’ dubious persistence. Even though they catcall her often when we walk by or if she is out in the patio, Misty will only smile, but never talks to them, interacts with them, or enables them space. We do not allow that risk. Like John commented in our previous post, “- just promise the people here who love you both that you will not lose vigilance and that, though you will trust in God, you will also use the brains he gave you to the fullest. Please watch each other carefully. Also, keep the mop handy in case one of the lions gets away from the circus.”

There are Bulls and Wolves prowling and snorting their way around in every neighborhood in this world. Chances are, one is kicking up dust next door to you. We keep praying for our new neighborhood and watching for that day when something as simple as a push-broom can bring light and truth to the hopeless.