The morgue in Juarez screams Third World. It’s basically just a wooden shed that one might see out on a deserted landscape between nowhere and hell. Once you get past the initial stench and into the dark choking air you could see the profiles of the corpses. There was no ventilation, not even a breeze, as if the room was sucking life from the living. It was high noon in June, 2002. The bodies were shrouded in black tarp and the flies congealed in and around my little brother’s mouth, eyes and ears. I cried just for the sadness of it … the sadness of such an insult to his dignity, to his pride, his ego. ...
Read all the story here. To mess with a Porfirio Diaz saying: Poor El Paso ... so far from God, so near to Mexico.
I taught on the same campus as the medical school at UACJ and the autopsy facilities for the city were on the grounds. I watched once a group of ostensibly educated middle-class people take it all in as a nightwatchman talked about the various ghostly manifestations he said he had encountered around the place.
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