Juarez, actual. 17:30
The night’s tense between the frequent gunshots, sirens and loud Norteño music coming from nearby bars. I’m on Calle Ignacio de la Peña, heading towards a Churreria (I learned soon). I hear a group of teenagers, they get closer and see me; boys, two on BMXs; I imagine the ages range from fourteen to sixteen years old; they see my cameras… Ask me what I’m doing in the area— I tell them I’m a reporter working on stories of people in Juárez— they immediately to take photos of them, I oblige asking them during this process to tell me about the neighborhood and what they’re doing out; quick glances at one another from the boys— looks and uncomfortable silence continue; I might lose these boys. When I smell fried sweets, I ask if anyone wants a churro and a coke… One boy quips that he’d prefer beer, I laugh and say sure, if they have them. We turn towards the shop crossing C. Ramón Corona.
Few churros, cokes, and other sweets later we’re standing around and talking, ‘Max’ tells me he’s getting ready to run errands for his work and has to get going, and with that he bikes off. I remain with the rest of the boys. I ask them if they all work at night, I get unsure nods and I leave it at that. ‘Juan’ takes a pack of cigarettes from his hoodies pocket and lights a cigarette, so do I. We without words start walking up the street. I’m not feeling any reason to feel unsure, they’re not overly concerned about me, but want to get to their spot to smoke pot.
Ten minute walk later we’re on a bluff and ‘Jason’ lights up, as he’s doing that a helicopter flies over closer than usual, ‘Juan’ looks up, I take a photo. 'Juan' tells me that the Federalés patrol through often at night.