Alberto Urrea, c. 1949

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Luis Urrea tells of his father and Tijuana

I will take spit on the tips of my fingers and draw tears down my cheeks

January 10. My father, in a red American Motors 440, drives north through the Sonora desert, ticking off towns as the sun rises to his right. Santa Ana, Caborca, Tajito. He is on his way ...


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