TIJUANA II, Have you seen my girl?

The boyfriend has his own version of that day.
Music ambientation for the story: Tijuana Jail

I bought a yellow t-shirt. Vintage and small. It fitted too well in California.
I knew it was the right time to do that.
Going back from Mexico, standing on a huge car line, staring at a woman trying to sell a big picture of Mother Mary with blue and pink flashlights stuck in the frame.
I loved my t-shirt, and started sweating when we, the girlfriend and I, could'nt find the paper they were looking for.
Nice policeman, a little bit of Spanish: "Step out of the car."
Two words, no more castellano, a line of mexicans dealing with the situation as if they were waiting on the supermarket cue.
Out of my mind: I had to leave her in Tiujana. Sitting next to that bastard with a greek surname. "Calm down sir". Useles English of mine.
Shouting to a Border police Officer. I am proud of you/me/us.
Green car.
Up and down southern California Highway. 30 minutes and the motel lights there, staring at me "I told you not to go, you Spanish Asshole."
I found me and my t-shirt getting into our room as if I was going to steal my whole suitcase, looking for the paper.
3 more minutes. I stopped 2 seconds realizing how ugly our bed sheets were.
Grab all the papers in the room (even the receipt for that strange anticonceptive that melted and was so uncomfortable, you remember right?).
Back in the car, California is so beautiful I would have a son with it if was a woman.
The sun going down, no music, please, no music.
Where is she.
Fucking speed limit. No way. I know it is going to be allright, but hell, it is Mexico. And she is there.
Too fast, no police cars.
San Diego is back and I can see the big M next to the big E and de X, telling me I am home.
Home?
You only are home when you are where you want to be.
My hands on the steering wheel. the old cop moving his arm. Me throwing the papers on him. The car exhausted and the beautiful lights in the mexican border: the smae place where Josh Brollin tries to find his suitcase in the film, same state where everybody tries to have a part of that strange american dream. And we going back and forth, playing with the line, enjoying the paper research.
Looking at each other. No complains.
She puts her head in my chest and my t-shirt feels worthy.
The Greek says goodbye.
When we cross the line with some cd playing in the car, I just can remember an old man with a cigar, sunbathing while me and her are swimming in the little pool of our motel. He looked at me and smiled. "Lucky you!"
And I understood everything while she was looking through the window, trying to figure out what the woman on the line who asked her for dollar change would be doing in that precise moment.
San Diego again.

Lucky me.

PAU
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I want to share a drawing inspiration: Angela Carrasco, put your headphones on because there's also a beautiful music track.