By Miguel Roura
"... Dressed in khaki pants and plaid shirt, the Guadalajara city cop carefully handled the electric wand, stepped over the wet floor, and with sadistic sarcasm repeated the question. “You want another hit of the chicharra? On the city streets of Guadalajara, local tokers taught me to associate the chicharra - the cicada - with ‘catching a buzz’ and getting high; taco vendors served these insects fried. But at that instant the incisive sound and sensation of the cattle prod was added to my personal vocabulary. With that, I broke. I took the police to the apartment of a university student I’d met at a wedding named Marco, with whom I’d smoked a joint. ..."