Translation: The women who cross the river each day form a long line for "the migra" (immigration). They show their permissions -- local (crossing) cards -- and they empty the contents of their purses. When they are asked about their destinations, they answer with the phrases they have rehearsed: I want to buy chicken on special, or my son wants tennis shoes from Wal-Mart. Meanwhile, their "patronas" (bosses) for the day lie in wait, at a prudent distance, in their station wagons, with the motors running. They are smoking impatiently. Another Winston?