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Speaking Spanish wasn't easy for a gringo like me, but I had no choice. I was playin' cards and drinkin' Mezcal at a nowhere bar in El Paso. I didn't have any money in my pockets but I was bluffing to win, I lost. I stood up, pulled my six gun and shot a man dead. The bar emptied out quick and so did I, money in hand. I jumped on that old pinto and rode due south because I knew the border wasn't far. My heart was beatin' as fast as that horse could gallop but I had the money, thank God. I looked out of place in Mexico, my jet-black cowboy hat amongst the sombreros and dark eyes staring at me, so I tipped my hat lower. Down a dusty Juarez Street, I found a cantina so I hitched my horse and went inside feeling weary. A pocket full of money and a Tequila bottle, I was joined by a senorita more beautiful than I could imagine. Her flowing dark hair and dress captivated my eyes as I told her my story dancing to the sound of mariachis in the background. She said the $300 dollars I stole I could turn into $600 with her help. Eager to double my money, we sat down at a table full of men playing cards and drinking Pulque by the glass. I felt confident as we won hand after hand, her hand in mine, a Tequila bottle in the other. I scooped up the winnings and kissed her soft skin feeling pretty lucky when a bullet ripped through my chest. Lying on the dirt floor in my own blood, a bandito took the money from my hand as my senorita, on her knees cried. My home in Albuquerque is far away now. I lay in an unmarked grave in the Sonoran Desert. The money I had won, well someone else is playing cards with it now...

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