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The carniceria sold ceviche on Fridays.  The Garcia’s ran it like a grocery store.  It was somewhat more expensive, but more convenient than a supermarket.  Mexicans loved it because it felt like home.   Tortillas still warm, fresh Jamaica, crema and cilantro like the state of Jalisco.  Black people loved it because of its pig parts.  Hamhocks were just like ours.  We bought fifty cent tacos wrapped in two tortillias that made you thirsty. 

My friend Juan stole Mexican candies from the carniceria.  He’d offer me some to no avail.  They were always too sour with names I couldn’t pronounce. They were far from Snickers, Lemon Heads or Nowalaters.  I could never persuade Juan to steal from 7-11.    He felt more comfortable robbing his own people.  I’m sure the Garcia’s knew he stole candy. They just let him get away.