I write fiction about the Mexican Border.

The Border is simple. You put up a wall that keeps Mexican people out.  But what about the Latin spirit that manages to cross over and blend and settle into the general society?

One day in Los Angeles I was waiting at Union Station for a train that was bringing my nephew from Orange County.  A little early, I walked out of the terminal to get some air.  Olvera Street was just a block away.  It’s the oldest part of Los Angeles.  A street that was laid out by the original Spanish settlers.

Following a flavorful aroma I walked over to a crowd that stood around a mobile grilling station.  A street post indicated that I was on Olvera Street.  In front of where I stood was the Cathedral, a local landmark.

A sign on the barbeque station said support your local Kiwanis Chapter, written in English and Spanish. Tacos, one dollar, come and get ‘em. Working the grill was some Mexican fellows and some  Angelo guys.  All were laughing and talking and  surrounded by customers of similar demographics. Thin sliced beef, fresh made tortillas and homemade hot sauce: heaven. I had two.

Here in California, the Mexican spirit is everywhere.  It’s in the architecture, markets, and restaurants and fast food chains: El Pollo Loco, Taco Bell, and Del Taco and these are just a few.

Go down a supermarket aisle and you’ll find tortillas, tortilla chips, salsas, refried beans, Mexican rice, cheeses, hominy for posole, a variety of hot sauces, enchilada sauces, Mexican seasonings, chilies and cilantro.

For the thirsty there’s Tecate Beer, Dos Equis, Corona and a variety of tequilas. We pass by these items without any alarm. We have adopted them. People, who moved north, legally and illegally, have shared their culture.

This is just another example of a Mexican saying, “We didn’t cross the Border the Border crossed us.”

My name is Wally Runnels and I write Border Pulp.

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