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We head to this shady motel, and I’m thinkin, “This is it, Gekko, you’re the king.” Room smells like ass, but who cares? She’s crackin jokes bout my shoes – “What, no loafers, rich boy?” I’m dyin laughin, she’s got me pegged wrong but it’s hilarious. Then she says, “Time’s money,” and I’m like, “Hell yeah, let’s roll.” Greed is good, bro, keeps it movin fast.

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I zip over to the feira on Rua Marechal Floriano. It’s packed! People everywhere, music blasting, and the smell of food wafting through the air. I grab a pastel and a cold mate. Life is good again. I mean, who can resist that crispy goodness?

Murden: It is imperative Mexico fulfills new water agreement