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📓Friday, October 3, 2025 — 1:59 p.m.
I’m sitting in the dark, watching a UFO whistleblower on Jeremy Corbell’s YouTube channel.
Outside, my white GMC van waits with its hood up, as my neighbor replaces the brake power booster.
He’s the man I call the Cartel Mechanic — a Mexican with pit bull eyes, a stare like a trap.
Always scanning his surroundings, like he lives in another layer of the city I can’t see.
Inside, the screen glows.
Outside, his wrench clicks.
Between us hum two worlds, each watching for something the other can’t name.
Meanwhile, I sip Ethiopian coffee — my attempt at being a connoisseur, though still the untrained kind.
The aroma clings to the air, stubborn and rich.
My brother Victor, visiting from Mexico, sits heavy in my thoughts.
He’s carrying heartbreak — the kind that makes you remember how fragile we are.
Last night, while we watched Russia’s Top Dog and Mexico’s own Clandestino — doorman brawls, street fights, raw fists swinging in the dark — he dropped it on me:
“My girlfriend left me. Six years together… gone. I couldn’t stay in Mexico. I had to get away.”
The story unfolded. One night, in a drunken haze — not blackout drunk, just careless — he made a mistake.
He texted a friend for “extracurricular activities of the fun kind.”
Bad decision: yes.
But context matters.
He woke the next morning, confused, still half-asleep. Notifications pinged. The friend: I’m here, let me in.
He blinked at the phone, horrified. “Hell no.” He replied back: I was kidding, lol.
Fast forward seven months.
His girlfriend needed a password for a streaming service. He handed her his phone.
Seconds later, boom — she storms out with the quickness of an angered She-Hulk.
In short — she wanted a break from him. To her, even though he didn’t physically do anything, he had betrayed her trust.
Before the night ended, we went on a run for hot chocolate at Starbucks near USC a little past 11 p.m. You could feel his sadness — the loss of a girl who, to him, wasn’t just a girl but a compass. And now, he’s lost.
Will the relationship return? Who knows. But he isn’t just sorry. He has learned. He knows he needs his compass — and he must take care of it.
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