The wind slapped us. Our jackets laughed at the frost forming in our chests. At night, we rubbed & rubbed to melt it, but there was nothing there. We inched north in our boat, so small not even the ocean could feel us in her hand. Fish leapt onboard yelling ¡You’ll never make it there wetbacks! They hit us in the head. We hit them with our shoes. The sun was out. One of us yelled, ¡Stop! We could see the fish glow in the gasoline trail. Behind that man, we formed a line to take turns holding port & starboard, pants down, to shit on their faces. ¡Cabrón! I’m trying to say the ocean was cold, I don’t remember what the Federales said.
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