Drunk, I staggered down a Tijuana alleyway. A moon bent like a finger nail clipping lit my way. I watched a mangy brown puppy eating old tacos from a tipped garbage can as I dragged my tired feet back towards the U.S. border. I had just been drinking, laughing and dancing with friends at one of our favorite bars when that familiar anxiety came over me. I had to leave. I told everyone I was taking a taxi back to the border, but I had something else in mind.
Tucked in the back corner of Tijuana’s Plaza del Zapato there’s a dirty gem responsible for some of the best nights and worst mornings of my life. Porky’s was a melting pot for Tijuana’s punk kids, cokeheads, Goths, gays, hipsters, and Continue reading